


One Foot In Front of the Other

by taralkariel



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:20:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 39,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taralkariel/pseuds/taralkariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometime after CATWS, Bucky returns with Steve to Avengers Tower. With the help of the other Avengers, and especially Sam Wilson, he is able to reclaim himself enough to become friends with his new roommates. Series of 27 vignettes of life in Avengers Tower between missions, with a focus on Bucky. Fluffy and angsty, more detailed summary inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Did I Get Myself Into All of This Mess?

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve really been enjoying reading people’s ideas for what kinds of things might happen if Bucky went to live in Avengers Tower sometime after CATWS, and I wanted to explore some of those (shout out to TeresaMorales2479 for the prompts!). These aren’t in chronological order, so the tone will vary depending on how Bucky is doing in his recovery. These will be sort of angsty or fluffy, or usually both. I have been reading many headcanons for these on tumblr, and I’d love to give credit where it’s due, so if you see one that reminds you of what you’ve posted, please let me know! The chapter titles are from Emilie Autumn’s One Foot In Front of the Other, and I thought it was fitting (though darker in tone) for what Bucky is going through. Enjoy!

** In which the Avengers and Bucky learn a valuable lesson about going out on the town. **

            There were flashing lights everywhere and deafening noise.  People surrounded him and he held very still, watching them.  Suddenly, the crowd of people drew back, giving one man a wide radius.  He looked over at Steve, who glanced his way and nodded slightly.  They both got to their feet and hurried forward, to get a better look at the activity in the center of the room.

“Should we help him?” he asked Steve quietly.

Steve smiled grimly.  “I don’t know if he’ll let us.”  He glanced around the enclosed space, at the others.  “Let’s wait to see if he tires himself out.”

Bucky nodded, folding his arms across his chest, the left one whirring faintly at the movement.  He fixed his eyes on the convulsing figure they were all surrounding.  The crowd clapped their hands to the beat and laughed at his antics.  When Bucky glanced at Steve, the latter rolled his eyes.

“This would probably be more fun if we could get drunk, too,” Bucky muttered and Steve laughed.

“Someone would still have to get this idiot back to his tower at the end of the night.  Might as well be us,” he answered with a shrug.

The doors to the club bounced open and an intimidatingly tall blond man walked into the room.  Steve crossed quickly over to him, Bucky just behind.  “What is Stark doing?” Thor asked, looking uncomfortably at the crowd.  The smile growing on his face belied his otherwise concerned expression.

“What passes for dancing nowadays, I guess,” Steve scoffed.

Thor paused, watching as some of the other members of the crowd begin to split off from the observant group and started dancing themselves.  “It is different from Asgard,” he said thoughtfully.  “Probably a better work out.”

Steve snorted.  “Did you find the others?”

“Banner is waiting outside.  He thought it might be unwise to enter.  Sam, Son of Will, agreed to wait with him while I came to find you.  Any sign of Barton?”

Steve shook his head.  “This was a stupid idea,” he said vehemently.

Bucky smiled.  “Most of yours are.”

Thor laughed when Steve glared at him.  “They may be a little reckless, but they’re not this bad.”

Sighing heavily, Steve plunged into the crowd to fetch Tony.  Bucky and Thor remained where they were, smiling briefly at each other at the ridiculous situation in which they found themselves.  “Your metabolism is accelerated like Steve’s?” Thor asked conversationally as Steve grabbed Tony’s arm and dodged the swing this action elicited.

“I’m not sure on the specifics, but it’s similar.  I could get drunk if I really applied myself, I think, if that’s what you’re asking,” Bucky replied.

“It’s good that Steve isn’t the only one left sober,” Thor said thoughtfully.

Bucky turned to look at him, aware of Steve grabbing Tony by his collar and dragging him up the stairs toward them.  “You think so?”

Thor smiled at the approaching pair.  “I don’t think he would go out with us if he were the only one who couldn’t imbibe.”

“Let’s go,” Steve growled as he marched between them, dragging a struggling Tony.  The crowd was laughing and Steve was almost blushing.

Bucky smirked at Steve’s reaction.  It was nice that so little had changed in his long absence.  Steve hated being the center of attention, even when he deserved it.  “You’re not drunk,” he continued his conversation with Thor as they followed in Steve’s wake.

“It would take a lot of your ale for me to be so.  It is also not something we usually engage in unless it follows a successful battle,” Thor explained.  “Not just a Thursday.”

“Only successful battles?” Bucky questioned, his voice lowering as they walked into the cool night air.

Bruce and Clint were standing some yards to the west on the sidewalk, and both looked very amused when they saw the method with which Tony had been removed from the club.  “A warrior must reconsider his unsuccessful battles for some time before he can drink them away,” Thor explained.

The others glanced at the two of them questioningly, but neither seemed interested in sharing the conversation.  “So, I guess Tony doesn’t handle his sauce,” Clint said after a pause.

“Colonel Rhodes could have told us that,” Steve grumbled.

“His refusal to join us was a little suspicious,” Bruce agreed, looking thoughtfully at Tony, who had stopped struggling at last.

“Guys, I’m fine,” Tony slurred as he sat down abruptly on the pavement.

Steve set his jaw and glanced at Bucky.  “Sorry, this wasn’t how we thought this would go.”

“How’s it going?” Sam asked softly as he walked up to Bucky, keeping an eye on and smiling slightly at Tony.

“It’s fine,” Bucky responded.

“No problems with the crowd?”

“No, I could handle it,” Bucky replied.

“Well, if you’re good with crowds, I have an idea for what to do next,” Clint interrupted.  “I bet they didn’t have this in the forties,” he added, looking smug.

Steve glanced at Bucky, looking worried.  “Lead the way,” Bucky replied, gesturing.

 

“I believe in a thing called love!  Ooh!” a man screeched into a microphone.

Bucky looked at Steve and grimaced as the man insisted on continuing.  “It gets better,” Clint assured them, but they weren’t too sure.

“This is clearly not something that man is capable of doing,” Thor agreed, brows furrowed as he attempted to hit another high note.

Tony dropped onto the stool between Steve and Bucky.  “They probably don’t have any songs you old timers would know.  So you’re out of luck.  Is Captain America going to drag me away from another good time if I go up there?” he asked acidly.

“I was dragging you because you ran off without telling us and you couldn’t even stand,” Steve explained patiently and Bucky smiled at his long-suffering expression.

“Yeah, whatever, you were just jealous of my dope moves.”

“Of course he was.  We all were,” Sam asserted sincerely and Bucky snorted to hold back his laugh.

“What are you going to sing for us, Tony?” Clint asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“You going to join me, Legolas?”

“Sure.”

“Come on, then, Don’t Go Breaking My Heart!”  Tony got to his feet and ran unsteadily toward the front of the room.  Clint gave them a winning smile before following him.

“I’m not sure which of them I’m more worried about,” Bruce said quietly.

Bucky was mildly surprised to learn that the odd statement Tony had finished with was a song.  The two of them sang it very passionately, and Bucky turned to look at Steve.  “We should go,” he said abruptly.

“Why, is something wrong?”  Steve’s amused grin faded immediately, and he glanced around the room quickly.  Searching for threats.

“Not yet.  But I don’t think I want to be roped into acting like an idiot on my first night out,” Bucky replied, cocking his head meaningfully toward Tony and Clint.

Steve nodded.  “Yeah, let’s go home.”

They nodded at Thor, Bruce, and Sam, who were enjoying the show, and got up to leave.  As they reached the door, they heard Tony’s plaintive voice following them, begging them to sing something called “My Heart Will Go On,” because it was “perfect.”  Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve, pausing in the doorway.

“Staying to sing something called that sounds pretty reckless,” Bucky said with a grin.

“Shut up, Buck.  We’d never live it down,” Steve replied, laughing, and pushed his friend out the door.


	2. How did I end up with this deadly home address?

** In which everyone discovers how pranks can go awry. **

“It’s possible I didn’t think this through,” Tony said.  Sam and Natasha stood next to him, nodding silently, eyes wide.

On the other side of the kitchen, Steve was lying on the floor, surrounded by broken dishes that had been shoved onto the floor by his body as he’d slid across the counter.  A mechanical skeleton was in a heap against the wall, with Bucky standing over it.  The skeleton had a few fist-sized dents, and Bucky’s chest was heaving.  He looked up at them with murderous eyes.

“I’m fine, Bucky,” Steve assured him, getting slowly to his feet.  Natasha hurried forward to help him, the others looking warily at the Winter Soldier.

“It was just a dumb prank,” Sam said when Bucky didn’t move.

“Very dumb, spectacularly dumb,” Tony agreed.  “Won’t happen again, don’t want to startle the old folks,” he continued, muttering.

Natasha silenced him with a look.  “Need any medical attention, Rogers?”

“Just a few cuts, nothing major,” Steve said, quickly crossing over to Bucky.  “I’m fine, Buck, really,” he insisted, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

The Soldier finally turned to look at him, blinking a couple times.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, turning his gaze quickly to his feet.

Steve looked daggers at the others.  “It’s fine,” he repeated.  “Let’s get out of here.  I’m sure they’ll take care of the mess,” he added.

“Rogers is an expert at mom-guilt,” Tony whispered to Natasha, who smiled.

Leading Bucky into the living room, Steve favored his shoulder and hoped that nothing too serious had been injured when Bucky shoved him away from the threat.  Well, the skeleton.  They’d been making coffee, the decoration standing motionless in the corner.  Bucky had been looking at it warily from time to time, but seemed to have gotten over its presence when it suddenly moved.  He’d reacted; it wasn’t surprising.  Steve was surprised that any of them had thought this would be a fun prank to pull, if that’s what it was.  It had been a while since Bucky had last had any kind of episode (23 days), but it wasn’t as though he was back to normal.  Might not ever be, Steve thought grimly.

He sat down on the couch and Bucky joined him, leaning forward on his knees and making himself look small.  “You didn’t hurt me,” Steve assured him again.

“I could have,” Bucky replied flatly.

Steve sighed.  “You didn’t.  Now, what do you think we should do to get back at them?”

Bucky looked up at him sharply.  “Get back at them?”

“They pranked us.  We have to prank them.  Otherwise they’ll feel guilty forever.”  He paused.  “Well, Sam will.  I’m not sure about Tony or Nat.  Besides, they’ll hardly expect it now.”

Bucky smiled slowly.  “What do you have in mind?”

 

Tony whistled softly as he walked into the kitchen, tossing his screwdriver from one hand to the other, then onto the counter.  He opened the cupboard with a flourish and pulled out a glass.

“What are you so cheerful about?” Sam asked conversationally as he walked into the room to pull a water bottle out of the refrigerator.

“Dummy was actually being helpful for once.  I thought I’d come up here to celebrate.  Want to join me?”  Tony responded, holding up a bottle of whiskey and shaking it slightly.

“It’s two in the afternoon, Tony,” Sam replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, my schedule isn’t exactly traditional.  Is that a no?”

Sam shrugged, taking a swig out of his water bottle.  “Probably not a good idea after a run.”

“Suit yourself, birdman.”  Tony poured himself a glass and was just taking a sip when a strange sound echoed across the kitchen.  The two men turned to look at each other, then in the direction of the sound.  It was coming from one of the air vents.

“Security protocols are in place for those, right?” Sam asked quietly.

“Should be.  They’re too small for anyone to be in there,” Tony said reassuringly, but didn’t look convinced as the banging sound continued.

“It sounds like it’s getting closer,” Sam muttered, taking a step back.

“And faster.  JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“What the hell is making that sound?”

“My sensors do not show anything but the metal, sir,” the AI responded.

Tony sighed.  “Could one of my suits have gotten in there?”

“All marks are accounted for, sir.”

“I’d feel a lot better with Steve’s shield here, Tony,” Sam interrupted, frowning.

“Yeah.  JARVIS, could you tell Steve to get over here quick?”

“Yes, sir.”

Suddenly, a silver streak burst out of the vent and spun around the room, knocking things off shelves.  Tony shrieked and Sam made a similarly unmanly sound as they both dropped to their knees behind the counter.  The sound of uncontrollable laughter met their ears and the flying object dropped onto the floor nearby.

Steve stepped into the kitchen, holding a camera phone and giggling.  Bucky was with him, smiling, but more contained as he walked over and swept his arm up off of the floor.  He slipped it under his sleeve and there was a soft click as he fit it into place.

“Did you know it was detachable?” Tony asked Sam in a stage whisper.

“I did not,” Sam admitted, getting to his feet and leaning nonchalantly against the wall.  Tony copied this action.

“We didn’t mean to terrify you whippersnappers,” Steve said between chuckles.  “But I’m so glad we got it recorded.”

“You didn’t,” Tony said flatly.

“We did,” Bucky replied, smile broadening.

“I think we know what the next movie night is going to include,” Steve added thoughtfully.

“Come on, man, I’ll get my mom to bring some more cookies,” Sam offered.

“What do you think, Buck?  You think her cookies are that good?” Steve asked, elbowing his friend lightly.

“Good enough for what?” Natasha asked as she walked into the kitchen.  The men all fell silent and looked at her, a little guiltily.  “It seems I missed something,” she added, taking in the scene and raising an eyebrow.

“The geriatric duo here was trying to get back at us for the skeleton thing,” Tony said, in much the same tone as a child tattling.

“I think we need to set up some new rules for Halloween.  And April Fool’s Day, probably,” Natasha muttered.  “Clean this up, boys, while I go fetch the others before this gets any more out of hand.”  She paused, looking around.  “What made this mess?”

“They were startled,” Steve interjected at the same time Bucky said “My arm.”

Natasha turned to look at Bucky.  “Detachable?”  He nodded.  “Good to know.”

“Can it help clean this up?” Tony grumbled.

“More easily if it’s attached,” Bucky answered, glancing his direction.

“Okay, let’s get to work,” Sam said.  “We’re going to need some more dishes at this rate.”


	3. We Never Will Forget, and No, We Will Not Forgive

** In which some old-timers deal with driving. **

“So, did you guys even learn how to drive when you were young?” Tony asked conversationally.

Bucky glanced at Steve, waiting for him to answer.  He had been there less than a month and usually didn’t speak unless explicitly addressed.  “We did, yeah, though we did most of our driving during the war,” Steve responded, not looking up from the paper he was reading.

“Did you have to obey a lot of traffic laws for that?”

“Nope.  Lots of off-roading.  In jeeps.”

“What kind?”

Steve gave up on his paper with an exasperated sigh.  Bucky smiled at the reaction.  “Army jeeps, Tony.  Like everyone else.”

“You didn’t have like a Star-Spangled Jeep?  Just for Cap?” Tony grinned.

Steve picked up the empty breakfast plates from his place and Bucky’s, carrying them to the kitchen.  “All American jeeps had a star on them,” Bucky supplied quietly.  Tony looked at him sharply, surprised he’d entered the conversation.

“Yeah, but I seem to recall them being green,” he said after a brief pause.

“So are the woods and fields we drove them through,” Steve called, putting the dishes away before returning and sitting down next to Bucky.  Tony stood at the other end of the table, leaning against the chair.

“I’m just saying, you could have stepped up your patriotism a little better, Rogers.”

Steve laughed.  “You’re right, I definitely should have driven around in a screaming red, white, and blue vehicle so everyone would know it was me.”

Tony looked offended.  “I thought you were a symbol, Cap.  That’s why you were carrying around the bulls-eye you call a shield.”

“It was supposed to be a bulls-eye, so people would shoot at it and not at my head,” Steve muttered.

“Was?”

“Fine, is.  Should I go get it and see if you can resist aiming for the center?”

Bucky cleared his throat and they turned to look at him.  “It’s pretty hard to resist.”

Tony laughed humorlessly.  Steve’s brow furrowed, and he glared at Tony.  “I wasn’t going to ask our resident expert, but thanks, Summer Sergeant.  Anyway, to bring us back to why I came in here, I happen to have recently acquired a 1944 Willy’s Jeep downstairs and thought you guys might want to give her a spin.”

Steve looked at Bucky, whose face was expressionless.  “What do you say, Buck?”

“Sure,” he answered with a shrug.

Tony smiled and led the way to the elevator.  Steve and Bucky followed more slowly, and they all waited in silence as it carried them to the parking garage on the bottom floor.  Smiling and humming to himself, Tony stepped out and spread his arms with a flourish to reveal the jeep sitting right in front of them.

“It’s red,” Steve said.  It was bright red, with nice leather seats, but otherwise looked exactly like those they had driven in the war.

“I was thinking we could trick it out to be Cap’s official vehicle, or we could get a white one and blue one for you and your sidekicks,” Tony explained proudly.

“Sidekicks?” Bucky asked ominously.

Tony’s smile faltered as he looked between the two of them.  “You know, you and Wilson.”

Bucky turned his attention to Steve, who smiled gently at him.  “Is that what we are?”

“We’re all on the same team, Buck.  None of us are sidekicks.”

“Fine, one for everyone on your team,” Tony acquiesced, smiling again.  “Do you want white or blue, Iron Giant?”

“Steve should have blue.  I should have red,” Bucky said flatly.

Tony glanced uncertainly at Steve, who was frowning.  “Alright, then.  Glad we got you taken care of already.  You want to take it out now?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Bucky responded and turned away abruptly.  Steve watched him painfully as he walked back to the elevators and left them there.

“I didn’t realize he wasn’t your shadow all the time,” Tony said in an attempt at humor.  Steve sighed.  “Sorry, Cap, I don’t know what’s going to be a sore subject for the guy.”

“Probably everything,” Steve answered heavily.

“Then let’s find him something fun to do.  Come on.”

 

Bucky sat in the living room on the floor he shared with Steve and Sam, when Sam came to visit.  He was staring intently at the television, though it was off.  When he heard the elevator ding down the hall, he tensed, fingers clenching into fists.  By the time the footsteps had approached, he had managed to calm himself somewhat, and looked up placidly.  Tony was carrying a plastic box of some sort, wearing a grin, and Steve was following, carrying an open-topped box containing several small objects.  He looked less excited, but smiled at Bucky.

“Tony suggested we play this game.  You know, to practice driving, I guess,” he said, setting the box down and handing Bucky a small white wheel made out of plastic.  Bucky took it, frowning doubtfully.  There was some kind of remote control fitted into the center of it.

“A game?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s the best.  I let everyone else know.  They’ll probably join us,” Tony explained happily.

“What do we do?” Steve questioned, sitting down next to Bucky with his own wheel.

“You push this button to go, and this one to stop.  And hold this one down to drift, but we’ll get to that later.  We’ll start off slow.”

 

“So, he does laugh,” Natasha’s voice interrupted them a few hours later.  Sam, Clint, and Rhodey had joined them sometime in the interim.  Bucky and Steve had played continuously, so they could get better, Tony had said, while the others switched off.  Natasha was referring to Bucky.  The others had been laughing for most of the game, even Steve, but to hear Bucky join in was a rare treat.  She smiled at him when he glanced over at her almost nervously.  “So, Barnes, can you beat Barton yet?  He’s our best player.”

“She’s just saying that,” Clint responded with a smile.

“I thought I was the best,” Tony grumbled.

“You haven’t won a game in over an hour, Tony,” Rhodey told him.

“I don’t think we quite have a hang of this drifting thing,” Steve admitted to Natasha.

“They’re doing great for their first day,” Sam assured her.

“Do you want to play?” Bucky asked quietly.

“It’s not my kind of game,” she said, sitting down between Bucky and Clint, who was perched on the edge of the couch.

“Okay, are we playing or not?” Tony wanted to know impatiently.

“Let’s do it,” Sam answered, hitting the start button.

Peals of laughter filled the room as the men trash talked each other while they played.  After a while, Natasha played a race or two.  She always won.  Otherwise, Clint or Sam usually won.  Steve and Bucky were making good progress, as Sam had said, but rarely came in first.

“This is more complicated than I expected it to be,” Steve said after a race, flexing his stiff fingers.  “My hands are getting tired.”

“Bucky has a distinct advantage over us,” Tony muttered, which was met with an uncomfortable silence while everyone stared intently at the television screen.

“Yeah, I gave my left arm to be good at Mario Kart,” Bucky replied.  Everyone turned to stare at him and Steve, waiting.  Steve’s face crumpled briefly, then he burst into laughter, breaking the tension at last.  Bucky smiled at him. 

“So, one more, guys?” Sam asked.

“Sure,” Steve said, still smiling.  The group settled in to watch Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Rhodey play one more race.  After the awkwardness, everyone threw themselves into the experience, giving each other a hard time.

“Don’t make me unleash the Falcon!” Sam cried as he rounded the last corner, barely edging out Bucky.  Without answering, Bucky leaned over and snatched the wheel out of his hands, tossing it aside.  Sam and the others who weren’t playing turned to stare at Bucky, who grinned as he won the race.

“Well, I think we should call it a night,” Tony said, bemusedly.

“Yep,” Steve replied, getting to his feet.  Bucky did the same and followed him down the hallway.

“Good race, Bucky,” Sam called after them.  The others echoed the sentiment, and Bucky looked back with a smile as his face.

Steve turned around and gave the group a wave and a smile, before throwing his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and leading him away.  “You did good today, Buck.”

“Thanks, Steve,” he answered quietly.  “It was a good day.”


	4. We Fought Hard Not to Die, Yet We Don’t Know How to Live

** In which Steve goes on a date and his friends are overly supportive. **

Natasha sat on the island kitchen counter, her legs swinging slowly and smiling.  Steve stood at the stove, cooking dinner.  Bucky was standing at the edge of the kitchen, leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest. 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bucky said flatly.

“I have no intention of sitting on you, I promise,” Natasha assured him with a grin.

Steve sighed, frowning at both of them.  “I know you don’t need one, Bucky, I’d just feel better if you aren’t here by yourself.”

“By myself?  In an artificially intelligent tower with up to eight super heroes at any given time?  Yeah, I’m sure I’m in real danger if Captain America leaves for a couple hours.”  Bucky rolled his eyes, glancing at Natasha, who laughed.

“You know that’s not what I’m worried about,” Steve said quietly, looking away.

Bucky moved from his spot and walked over to his friend, putting his hand on his shoulder.  “It’s been over a month, Steve.  Are you ever going to think I can handle myself?”

Steve frowned deeply, meeting his eye.  Before he could answer, Natasha interjected.  “Maybe you should go together.”

“I think you’re misreading our relationship,” Bucky replied, smirking at Steve’s surprised look.

Natasha laughed.  “You guys didn’t go on double dates before?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Bucky folded his arms over his chest again.  “I set a bunch of them up.  But somebody rarely stuck around for the whole thing.  Not even on my last night in town,” he said, shaking his head.

“At least you got him to go.  Every time I suggest a girl I know, he comes up with some excuse.  I couldn’t even get him to meet one,” Natasha agreed.

“You know, maybe I liked it better when you two weren’t friends,” Steve grumbled.

“You mean when he was trying to kill me?” Natasha asked politely.

“That’s a little insensitive, Steve,” Bucky admonished at the same time.  They glanced at each other and laughed.

“Well, you two can finish your own damn dinner.  I’m going to go get ready,” Steve answered, dropping the spatula and stalking out of the kitchen.

“He’ll probably need some help on that,” Natasha told Bucky in a stage whisper.  Steve pretended not to hear.

“You aren’t hungry?”  Bucky asked, looking toward the stove.

“I am.  I’ll finish cooking.  You go make sure your friend doesn’t make a fool out of himself,” she answered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, saluting her before following Steve to his room.  He sat down on Steve’s bed and waited patiently for him to get out of the shower.

“Damn it, Bucky, you scared me,” Steve snapped when he left the bathroom in a towel.

Bucky smiled.  “We didn’t want you to look stupid, so I figured I’d better catch you before you got too involved.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky replied affably.  “What are you going to wear?”

With a heavy sigh, Steve walked over to his closet and showed his friend the khakis and button-down shirt he’d selected.  Bucky wrinkled his nose.

“I hate when you wear khakis.”

“Why?” Steve demanded.  “It’s what people wear when they want to look nice without trying too hard.”

“You don’t want to look like you’re trying?”

“Do you want me to wear a tuxedo?”

Bucky laughed.  “No.  But you wear khakis like old men these days wear them.”

“I’m ninety-five.”

“I don’t think that excuse is one you want to go with when you’re about to go out with a girl under thirty.  Don’t be gross, Steve.”

Steve sighed again.  “Fine, what do young men wear on dates in the 21st century?  I know this is definitely in your field of expertise.”

“Do you want me to call Natasha in here?”

“No!” Steve said sharply, blushing a little.

“That’s what I thought.  We’ll get final approval from her.  Where are you going to take Sharon?” Bucky asked.

“To the movies.”

“Did you get her flowers?”

“No, Buck, that doesn’t seem to be something people do regularly anymore.  It’s a little old-fashioned, I think.”

“Hmm.  And you think this girl you’re seeing is going to be surprised if you’re a little old-fashioned?  Because that seems like a larger issue to me,” Bucky said with a frown.

“I’m sure she won’t mind, but don’t you think it’s important we try to fit in here?” Steve asked, pulling on some dark jeans and nice shirt.  “Is this acceptable?”

“Probably.  Do you have a jacket to go with it?”  Bucky’s tone gave no indication to how he felt about the first question.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, grabbing a black jacket from the closet and shrugging it on.

“You look very modern,” Bucky told him appreciatively.

“Good.”  Steve paused, glancing at his friend.  “I’m not sure why I’m listening to a guy who only wears sweatpants and t-shirts, though,” he teased.

“Women love a man in uniform.  Ours are in a museum, so we have to make do with what we have.  You’re wearing the casual eveningwear uniform, and I’m wearing the please don’t pay any attention to me uniform.  It’s perfect,” Bucky explained patiently.

Steve sat down next to him.  “You don’t want anyone to pay attention to you?”

Bucky shrugged.  “I’d rather not have my arm stared at,” he muttered.

“So I take it you won’t be forcing a double date on me anytime soon?”

Bucky didn’t look at him, just stared intently across the room.  “Not soon,” he said at last.  Maybe not ever remained unspoken, but Steve could tell that was what he was thinking.

“Well, you can at least go be a gentleman and accompany Natasha for dinner.  It won’t even require leaving this floor,” Steve said with forced cheerfulness, getting to his feet.

“Great,” Bucky replied, smiling slightly despite his sarcastic tone.

“I know you like hanging out with Nat.  That’s why I asked her to babysit,” Steve teased, exiting the room hastily before Bucky could find something to throw at him.

“You’re going to regret that one, Steve,” Bucky called after him, then rose to follow his friend more slowly back to the kitchen.

“What’s he going to regret?” Natasha wanted to know.  “Not his choice in outfits, I hope.”

“We submit for your approval Steve’s date-night uniform,” Bucky said dramatically, gesturing toward Steve.

Natasha left the kitchen to walk around him carefully.  “You look great, Cap.  I wouldn’t mind you showing up at my door with flowers.”

Bucky looked at Steve sharply.  “Flowers,” he said shortly.

Steve laughed.  “Do I need flowers for this date, Nat?”

“Is it your first date?  Anniversary?  Her birthday?  Valentine’s Day?”  Steve shook his head after each.  “Then they aren’t necessary.”  She paused.  “You know I’ve been a spy my entire life, though, right?  None of my missions required me to know the ins and outs of regular dating.  You may want to ask someone else.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look.  “I’m pretty sure you’re still one of the most normal people in the building,” Steve said sincerely.

“Aw, thanks, Rogers.  Wish I could say the same,” she teased.  “I’m glad you found someone with similar life experience, though,” she added with a smirk as she pointed at Bucky.

“That’s not exactly what I meant when I said that,” Steve grumbled, pushing his hair back.

“So you’re saying we don’t have similar experiences,” Bucky demanded, in mock offense.

“Maybe a little too similar, Buck.  Now, I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry.  I look okay?”  Steve added earnestly.

“Yes, you look great,” Bucky said with a long-suffering sigh.

“You look just fine, Steve.  Have fun,” Natasha added, smirking at Bucky.

“Stay out of trouble,” Steve called over his shoulder as he got on the elevator.

“I thought he’d never leave,” Natasha said with a grin as the elevator doors closed.


	5. How Do We Change Our World to What We Want It to Be?

In which the Avengers explore their hobbies.

            Steve likes to draw.  He’s good at it.  When they have downtime, he gets a lot of drawing done.  Sometimes he uses oil pastels, or paints, or occasionally colored pencils.  There are a lot of options that he can now afford, and he likes to experiment.  When he wants to draw, he likes to take Bucky out into the world with him to look at it like he does.  Bucky has always appreciated that, and is happy to go along with him now.  He sits next to his friend and enjoys being outside for once.

Tony is a tinkerer.  He rarely leaves his workshop, even when he’s not working on anything for a mission.  He likes to test his abilities to make whatever pops into his head.  Sometimes it’s useful, sometimes it’s just for fun.  After Bucky arrives, Tony likes to tinker with his arm.  Bucky isn’t sure how he feels about that, but the engineer is always surprisingly respectful about it, and he begins to feel that his arm can be more than just a weapon.

Much to the others’ surprise, Natasha likes to bake.  She refuses to cook meals for them, which is understandable, but she spends time making delicious deserts.  Sometimes she asks Bucky to help her.  She doesn’t need help, and never asks anyone else, but he is grateful to have something normal to do.  He can remember cooking things for Steve when they could afford it, and maybe she asks him to join her because he appreciates such things more than the others.

Bruce spends most of the time in his lab.  Sometimes he works with Tony in his, or Tony comes to him, but he rarely leaves.  Bucky has seen him around, but not often.  He is aware that the general assumption is that two volatile people who may at any moment become incredibly deadly should not be in the same location if avoidable.  One of them might be able to be handled by the other Avengers, but if both were to fly off the handle…  Well, it would be bad.

The Asgardian, Thor, is not often in residence.  He stays with Jane Foster when she isn’t busy, and is of course needed in his own world frequently.  When he is around for a while, he likes to play chess.  Strategy comes naturally to him, and he is pleased to have other veterans with whom to play.  Bucky doesn’t remember playing much before, but he enjoys playing now.  He gives Thor a run for his money.  Steve isn’t subtle and is often needlessly reckless.  At least, according to Bucky.  He wins quite a bit despite this, so he must have some idea what he is doing.

Clint also likes to tinker, but not the extent Tony does.  He mostly works on new ideas for arrow tips.  When not doing this, he mainly lies around and watches television.  Sometimes Bucky joins him.  They look for things he can put in his quiver, especially if they are watching science fiction.  Clint spends a lot of time on the roof of the tower, looking out, or sits on the counter rather than a chair.  This seems a little strange to Bucky, but he can appreciate the desire for higher ground.  It’s certainly paid off for him in a variety of situations.

Sam doesn’t live in the tower, but tends to visit quite a bit.  He was the first person to spend a great deal of time with Bucky, after Steve.  Bucky knows he counsels veterans for a living, and is not surprised that he was the first one to be exposed to the former assassin.  He supposes they were vetting him to see if he would be able to join the others or not.  Sam goes for a run every morning, and Bucky and Steve often go with him.  He spends a lot of time with the other Avengers, working on their projects, and it takes a while for Bucky to discover what he likes to do with his spare time.  He plays video games.  Soon, he invites Bucky to play, especially if Steve and the others are on a mission.  Some are fun games, others strongly reminiscent of his time as the Soldier.  Sam insists that they are often helpful for sufferers of PTSD, to be exposed to the same experiences that distress them, but in a safe environment.  Bucky isn’t sure about that, but the nightmares have been decreasing.

 

The first few weeks were terrible, with Bucky frequently waking up and having no idea where he was or what was happening to him.  As he got more used to life in the tower, and formed tentative friendships with the other residents, he began to adjust to how things were going to be.  Steve left frequently on missions, and he was grateful that the others tried to make him feel at home when he was gone.

One evening, five weeks after he’d arrived in the tower, Bucky woke up from a nap on the couch from a nightmare.  He was on his feet and halfway across the room, muscles taut, before he remembered where he was and that he was safe.  The floor was silent, empty.  He did a perimeter check out of habit, then sat back down on the couch.  Looking down at the coffee table in front of him, he was surprised to find that there was a box with a bow on it.  He glanced around him, then opened it tentatively.

“Thought you might like doing something like you used to while we’re gone,” a note said in Steve’s square hand.  When he saw what was under the note, he smiled.

 

“I’m just saying, you could have done that cool combo move with Thor.  You practically levelled a forest with it, and haven’t used it since!” Tony was saying.

“Yeah, well, we haven’t really been somewhere I want to level since then,” Steve grumbled.

Bucky remained on the couch as he listened to the presumably successful Avengers return and enter the kitchen down the hall.

“You know how Rogers feels about property damage,” Natasha teased.

“I don’t think that’s something to be ashamed of,” Bruce put in quietly.

“Steven, your friend has a knife,” Thor interrupted them, looking down the hallway toward Bucky.

Bucky smiled slightly as the others quickly stepped out of the kitchen to see him.  He watched with interest the order they took to approach him.  Steve was unsurprisingly hanging back, likely laughing to himself like the punk he was.  Natasha and Clint were first, Tony and Thor behind them, and Bruce keeping his distance.  He twisted the knife through his fingers and they stopped about two yards away.

“What are you doing, James?” Natasha asked.  She glanced back, likely noting Steve’s lack of presence.

He held up what he had been working on: a wooden figurine of an eagle.  It was mostly finished, he had just been adding feathers.

“Wow,” Clint said, leaning forward to get a better look.

“Did you make that while we were gone?” Natasha inquired quietly.

“Yeah.  It goes a lot faster with my new arm,” he admitted.

“When you guys told me he had great knife skills, this isn’t exactly what I thought you were getting at,” Tony quipped.

Steve appeared at last, smiling genuinely, more than Bucky had seen him do since he’d arrived.  “I’m glad you remembered, Buck.”

“Me too.”

 

After that, Bucky spent a lot of his time whittling.  He remembered, vaguely, that it was something he would do during his down time in the war.  He wasn’t sure if he’d done it before that, but it was a good way to keep his hands busy.  The eagle he gave to Steve, and he began to give away the other things he made as well.  A falcon went to Sam, and a hawk to Clint.  Those were easy.  The others required some more thought.  For Thor, he carved a horse, and the Asgardian seemed quite touched by the gift.  Bruce received a DNA helix (NOT easy to make), and Tony an approximation of the atom of the element he’d created.  For Natasha, he carved a ballerina.  The others had looked like they might tease her, or him, about it, but then they saw the look on her face when he gave it to her.

Eventually, he started making ones for himself.  If someone asked, which did happen, he’d make requests.  Pepper and Jane were not well-known to him, but he willingly carved Mjolnir and the first miniature arc reactor Tony had made for them.  Mostly, though, he sat next to Steve while he drew and carved whatever struck him.  Some worked out, some didn’t.  But it didn’t matter.  He wasn’t making them to show off, or to practice his dexterity, though it had that benefit.  It was pleasant to create something, after spending so many years destroying.


	6. How Do We Move Beyond All of This Misery?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up - I wrote all these last fall, so they aren't going to be Age of Ultron compliant... Hope you can enjoy them anyway :)

In which Bucky gets to take care of someone else again.

Bucky sat in front of the television, deep in thought.  He was faintly aware of a soft ding down the hallway of the elevator arriving on his floor, then much more aware of the sound of claws scrabbling on the tile and movement headed in his direction.  Automatically, he jumped to his feet and backed himself into the corner in a defensive stance.

“Sorry, sorry!” Sam’s anguished voice echoed down the corridor as a yellow blur appeared streaking toward him.

With some difficulty, he kept himself from reacting as the dog jumped up at him, wagging its tail in delight.  Tentatively, he reached out his human hand to pat its head, and it sat down in front of him.

“You okay, Buck?” Sam asked, finally arriving on the scene.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, frowning down at the animal.

Sam smiled.  “I think he likes you.”

“Great.”

“Come here, Commander,” Sam called to the animal, which got to its feet and walked back over to him, tail wagging.

“Commander?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sam smiled.  “He’s not mine.  He’s for work.”

“What does he help you with at the VA?”

The look that passed over Sam’s face was almost guilty, and Bucky frowned.  “He’s a good boy.  The vets often find it helpful to have a companion like this.  And taking care of something is a good step on the road to recovery,” he explained.

“Which is why you brought him here,” Bucky said flatly.

Sam gave him a small smile.  “Well, no, not exactly.  The dude who usually watches him between assignments is out of town for a while.  I’m just doing a favor for a friend.”  Bucky didn’t answer, watching Sam as he crouched and petted the dog.  Sam cleared his throat.  “I did think I might be able to kill two birds with one stone here.”

He sighed.  “By having me take care of a helpless animal to assuage my killer tendencies?”

“Exactly, man.  What, were you not a dog person before?” Sam asked, teasing.

He shrugged one shoulder.  “Maybe.  Keeping myself and my family fed was enough of a chore, I seem to recall.  There wasn’t anything extra for another mouth to feed that wouldn’t contribute anything.”

“I understand.  Well, why don’t you come over here and see how you like him?” Sam suggested gently.

Sam was a straightforward man, which was appreciated.  It always surprised Bucky when he proved himself a professional when it came to helping former soldiers.  He’d gotten Steve to go to a therapy session right after they’d met with barely a suggestion.  Steve wasn’t one for accepting that maybe the world didn’t need to rest on his shoulders, as impressive as they’d gotten over the years.  Bucky didn’t know if Steve still went to any sessions, or if he’d found someone else in whom to confide, but Bucky had no intention of going and burdening some poor soul with all that he’d done in the last seventy years.

With a sigh, he moved away from the wall and over to where the dog was sitting.  As he approached, the animal looked like it wanted to stand up and get closer, but Sam held it seated where it was.  He reached out when he was within arms’ reach to scratch the dog’s ears with his right hand.  Sam smiled up at him from where he was crouched.  The dog wagged its tail and looked at him with what he supposed must be canine delight.

“See, he’s a good boy.  He won’t do anything to startle a person,” Sam said with a grin, looking at and clearly addressing the dog.

“Yeah, PTSD sufferers are easily startled,” he grumbled, but found a smile tugging at his lips despite his grim statement.

Sam looked almost as happy as the dog, whose mouth was open in what seemed like a smile.  After a few minutes of scratching, the dog lay down and Bucky tentatively sat down on the floor next to it.  Sam did the same.  “Do you think you could watch him for me for a little while?  I have to go find Steve.”

Bucky bit his lip, withdrawing his hand and looking at the floor.  “I don’t know.”

Sam put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.  “I’m sure you two will be fine.  It will be like half an hour, tops.”

“Okay,” he said, because he couldn’t bring himself to admit he couldn’t take care of another living creature for even a short period of time.

Patting his shoulder, Sam got to his feet and headed down toward the elevator.  The dog got to its feet, too, but Sam motioned toward it to stay, and it sat back down next to Bucky.  When the elevator doors closed on Sam, the dog turned to look at him and wagged its tail a little.

“Well, I guess it’s just you and me,” he said, because it seemed like he should say something.  The dog clearly understood it was being addressed, and wagged its tail, leaning forward to put its face closer to his.  He backed up automatically, but the dog didn’t seem to be offended by this as most people were with similar reactions they elicited from him.  Gently, he reached out and scratched its ears again, thoughtfully.

The floor was not particularly comfortable.  After a while, he climbed to his feet and waited to see if the dog would do the same.  It did.  Then he walked back to the couch and sat down.  The dog sat down in front of him, wagging a little.  He reached out with his left arm this time, and waited to see what the dog would do when he made contact.  There was no noticeable reaction as he stroked the dog slowly with his metal fingers, wondering if the dog’s hair might get caught in the joints.  Not so far.

“Do you want to come up?” he asked the dog.  It didn’t answer, which wasn’t a surprise.  He patted the seat next to him invitingly, and the dog looked up at him intently.  After a moment, it hopped up next to him and walked in a circle twice, before flopping down beside him with something like a sigh.  He smiled, and rested his right arm on it, scratching occasionally and feeling unusually content.

 

Footsteps down the hallway woke him, and he was startled to find himself on the couch.  The dog next to him was briefly perplexing, but it looked up at him when he jumped and seemed almost apologetic for its presence.  He smiled reassuringly at it and petted it a few times, then directed his attention to the approaching footsteps.

“Hey, Sam said there was a dog,” Natasha explained as she walked into view, Clint at her side.  She smiled at Bucky, but Clint was clearly just here for the dog.

“Yeah, his name’s Commander,” Bucky told them, surprised by the odd sense of pride he felt at being able to introduce an animal.

“He’s adorable,” Natasha said, moving closer to pet the dog’s head.  It sat up and wagged its tail at her and Clint as they patted it.

“I wish Tony would let us have a dog,” Clint said in a mock-whiny voice.

Natasha laughed and Bucky smiled at the tone.  “Maybe he doesn’t think you’d clean up after it,” she suggested.

“It’s a legitimate concern,” Clint conceded.  “But how could you say no to this face?”

“Obviously, we couldn’t,” she said drily, smiling at Bucky again.  “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, somewhat surprised by the change in subject.

“Sam said he was for treating PTSD victims.  Not that you’re the only one of those here, or anything, but we were just wondering if it was working,” she added gently.

He shrugged.  “It’s probably too soon to tell.”

“Good point.  Come on, Barton, we’re supposed to be on a mission.  You said this wouldn’t take long,” she said.

Clint sighed exaggeratedly.  “Fine, fine, I know you hate anything low-key.”

“Well, that’s not true,” she responded, bemused.  Scratching the dog’s head one more time, she touched Bucky’s shoulder briefly, then walked down the hall.  Clint patted the dog, flashed it and Bucky a quick smile, then followed her.

“How about a drink?” Bucky asked the dog, getting to his feet.  He was always thirsty after a nap.  The dog’s nails clicked on the tile as it walked behind him to the kitchen.  Searching for a moment, Bucky produced a good-sized bowl and filled it with water for the dog.  When he held it out, the dog sat down obediently, and looked very intently at him.  He set it down on the floor, and the dog continued to wait.  Biting his lip, he looked between the dog and the water.  “Um, go get it,” he tried.  No response.  “Good boy.  Have a drink,” he tried again.  The dog continued to look between him and the bowl.  He shrugged and turned away to get himself a drink. The sound of the dog drinking followed immediately and he smiled.


	7. I’ve Been in Chains Since I Was Nothing But a Kid.

In which Bucky deals with inflation

 “Twenty bucks for a steak?  What is it, made of gold?” Steve asked incredulously.

“Burgers are like $15.  Was there some kind of cow shortage we don’t know about?” Bucky agreed.

Natasha was laughing.  Clint frowned at them.  “Don’t worry, old timers.  I’m picking up the tab,” he said.

“It’s the principle of the thing, I think, that’s the problem,” Natasha explained.

“Exactly,” Steve said vehemently.

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look.  “I’m sorry, Steve, but things change.  It’s called inflation.”

“It seems like an exponential difference.  Do you guys even use coins anymore?” Bucky asked, glancing at Steve.

“Not for a lot, no.  There isn’t anything you can buy with just one,” Clint said thoughtfully.

“Nothing?  Everything costs more than a dollar?” Steve wanted to know.

“I think so.  I haven’t been paying that much attention,” Clint clarified with a shrug.

Steve and Bucky looked at each other and shook their heads in disgust.

 

“Natasha, what kind of store is this?” Bucky asked in a stage whisper.  He held up a pair of pants in Steve’s direction with an incredulous expression on his face.

“Why do you ask?” Natasha replied, glancing up from the magazine she was leafing through while she waited on them.

“Bucky’s just surprised by the amount of effort it apparently takes to make a pair of pants these days,” Steve explained, smiling grimly.

“You’re used to it?”

Steve shrugged.  “I was going to a lot more specialized stores before and it was really expensive.  Nat likes to find bargains, so this isn’t that bad, actually.”

Bucky swore, and put the pants back on the rack.  “I have enough clothes,” he stated in a bemused tone.

Natasha sighed.  “How do I always end up going on the geriatric shopping adventures?” she grumbled.

 

“The future is terrible,” Bucky said suddenly.

Steve smirked, keeping his attention on the television.  Natasha rolled her eyes, while Sam and Bruce turned to look at him.

“Why do you say that?” Sam asked gently.

“These prices, man.  Look at that worthless piece of crap, and it takes five ‘easy’ payments of $9.99?  It’s not even worth one!”  Natasha laughed at Sam’s startled expression.  Clearly it wasn’t the topic he’d expected.

“Things change, James,” she told him with a smile.

He sighed loudly and Steve laughed.  “Easy, Buck, no one’s making you buy any of this stuff,” Steve assured him.

“Yeah, but I have to buy other stuff.  And it’s not like I’m getting a paycheck, unlike you people,” he grumbled.

Bruce smiled slowly.  “Do you want to work for Tony, too?  I could use a lab assistant.”

“You could come down to the VA with me,” Sam offered.  “I’m sure you’d be a great help with some of the guys.”

“You could help Rogers and me on missions,” Natasha suggested.

Bucky snorted.  “Yeah, I appreciate the offers, but those don’t sound like really safe environments for the Winter Soldier to be in on a daily basis.”

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.  “You’ll get there,” he assured his friend.

“Not fast enough for me to be able to buy the random crap on tv like other people who sit at home all day.”

“Didn’t you have any money put away before you were deployed?” Sam asked.

Bucky shrugged.  “I’m not sure.”

“Steve did, and now he’s loaded,” Natasha added.

Turning to look at Steve, Bucky raised an eyebrow.  “Are you holding out on me?”

Steve laughed.  “She’s exaggerating.  It’s a lot of paperwork to be brought back from legally dead, Buck.  I wouldn’t have had the patience, but Fury took care of it.  My old bank was really interested in me remaining a client, so they did some calculations on how much I’d have now, and tried to honor that.  I still need to work for a living.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.  People were sending Captain America presents and cash during the war.  No one’s going to let Steve Rogers starve these days,” Bucky said darkly.  Steve looked like he wanted to say something, but Bucky continued.  “In any case, no one’s going to do any of that for me.  What do regular people do for employment these days?”

“Are you saying we aren’t regular?” Natasha asked with a smirk.

“I am, yeah,” Bucky answered with a grim smile.

“The VA has a program for finding jobs for veterans, if you want me to sign you up,” Sam offered, glancing between Bucky and Natasha.

“I think you’d run into a problem with the whole legally dead thing if you want a regular job,” Bruce interjected.

“You’re spies, can’t you get me a fake ID or something?” Bucky wanted to know.

Steve sighed.  “Maybe, if that’s really what you want to do.  But it seems like quite a bit of effort just to be able to buy expensive crap.”

Bucky shrugged and didn’t respond.  Sam looked at Steve and Natasha meaningfully.

 

Bucky yawned and stretched.  It was nice to wake up without nightmares every once in a while.  He pulled on a shirt over his pajama bottoms and shuffled out of his bedroom, rubbing his eye with his right hand and heading toward the kitchen.  Then he froze.

Sam, Steve, and Natasha were all sitting down the breakfast.  His seat was covered in wrapped boxes, which spilled onto the floor and covered a great deal of the table’s surface.  He frowned, confused.  “What the hell?” he demanded.

“Maybe you shouldn’t doubt our abilities to take care of you,” Steve told him, smiling slightly at his breakfast.

Bucky looked at the pile, dumbfounded.  “You bought all that stuff?”

“Yep.”

“Everything we could find,” Natasha corrected.  “I’m sure there are more as-seen-on-tv products that you don’t own yet, if you want to go out and get the rest.”

“I hate you guys,” Bucky said, but his expression belied the statement.  He looked overcome.

“Come on, Buck, why don’t you open them up?  Maybe something will help us do breakfast dishes,” Steve suggested.

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky replied quietly and started unboxing the one Natasha pushed in his direction.


	8. We Don’t Know Freedom, Not Quite Sure That We Ever Did

In which Bucky and Clint have a sharpshooting contest

            Bucky was sitting in the living room, Steve’s laptop on the table before him, leaning forward and reading.  He glanced up when he heard footsteps approaching and was mildly surprised to see Natasha heading his way.  She usually didn’t make a lot of noise.  Leaning against the couch, he folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at her as she smirked at him.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Not much.  What are you up to?”

He shrugged, looking back at the computer screen.  “Just working on catching up,” he replied.

“Hmm.”

Frowning, he turned to face her again.  “What is it?”

“There’s a shooting range downstairs.  Want to blow off some steam with me?  It’s more fun with a friend,” she suggested.

“Sure,” he said, shutting the laptop with a click and getting to his feet.  He followed her to the elevator and down to the training floors.  She led the way to the shooting range, and unlocked the gun cabinet.

“Any preferences?” she asked, motioning to the possibilities.

He glanced at them briefly, then picked the closest weapon.  It didn’t matter.  She made her selection as well and they went to the range itself.  Like everything in this building, it was automated.  The targets moved and changed based on their skills or preferences.  He hadn’t been down here more than a couple times, and hadn’t been briefed on how to use it.  Natasha took care of it, and he used his right hand first.  After a few rounds, he used his left, paying little attention to her doing the same.

The elevator pinged behind them and Bucky automatically whipped around.  After a beat, he forced himself to put his weapon down at his side.  Clint was in the elevator, and a look of surprise passed briefly over his face before he composed his expression and stepped out.

“Hey, ‘Tasha, I was looking for you.  How’s it going, Bucky?” he said conversationally.

“Well, here I am,” Natasha responded, finishing her clip and turning around to smirk at him.  “You want to join us?”

Clint glanced at Bucky briefly.  “What do you say about her grouping?  Could use some work, don’t you think?” he asked with a grin.

Natasha glared at him.  Bucky glanced between them hesitantly.  “Yeah, it’s not the best, but it’s effective,” he said slowly.

“Yeah?  Let’s see your work, then,” she grumbled, and pressed some buttons to cause the targets to come forward for them to inspect.

“Wow, Soldier, you’re good,” Clint said.  “Not sure how you managed to miss Nat and Steve when you shot at them,” he added.

Natasha looked at him sharply, but Bucky smiled.  “It probably wasn’t a question of skill,” he explained.

Clint laughed.  “That’s good to hear.  I’m surprised Nat managed to hit you, though.  Your goggles, right?”

Bucky nodded.  “Well, maybe you two should show me how it’s done,” she said, folding her arms over her chest with a frown.

“You up for some competition, Soldier?” Clint asked, smiling broadly.

“Sure,” he replied with a shrug.

“What are the rules, Tasha?”

She grinned.  “Round one, both of you use bow and arrow.  Round two, both sniper rifles.  Round three, dealer’s choice.  I’m going to go fetch the others; they’d hate to miss this,” she added, and hurried over to the elevator.  “Don’t start till we get back!” she called as it closed.

“You ever use a bow before?” Clint wanted to know as he went to pull his bow and another out of the weapons closet.

“Once or twice,” Bucky answered with a shrug.  “It wasn’t an integral part of my training.”

 

A few minutes later, the other residents of the tower arrived.  Even Bruce came, despite his general avoidance of anything conflict-related.  And general avoidance of Bucky.  Steve looked at him with concern, and he gave his friend a slight nod to reassure him.  Tony and the others were looking on with interest as he and Clint get their weaponry ready.  Natasha came to stand between them.

“Officiating,” she explained with a smirk.  “There are some considerable sums riding on the outcome of this, I hope you realize.”  Bucky frowned, while Clint’s smile grew.  Natasha looked at Bucky closely, her smile faltering.  “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she assured him.

“I’ll be fine,” he answered, squaring his shoulders and taking the bow Clint had offered.  Clint had insisted they do it ‘old-school,’ so there were three standard bulls-eye targets down the range.  They would trade off shooting, and each would have three shots per bulls-eye.  After flipping a coin to see who would go first, Bucky was somewhat relieved not to have been chosen.  He studied Clint’s technique carefully as he fired off his three at the first target, hitting the center each time.  Natasha took score and retrieved the arrows.

“Ready?” she asked as she exited the range and came to stand next to him.  He shrugged.  Lifting the bow in much the same way Clint had, he took careful aim and let the arrow loose.  It struck the target, but went wide, hitting the top left.  Frowning in concentration, he adjusted his aim and tried again.  This time, it was close to center.  The third did hit the center, and he was surprised to find that people were applauding.  Clint smiled at him.

“Going to give me a run for my money, huh?” he asked.

“I’ll try,” Bucky replied, smiling back.

The next round wasn’t quite as good.  He hit the center once, on the first try, but fatigue made him a little less accurate after that.  Clint hit center every time, which was not surprising.  On the final round, he managed to hit center every time, but Clint had clearly won.

“Ready to school me, old-timer?” Clint teased as he passed Bucky a sniper rifle.

“I hope so,” Bucky replied, inspecting it carefully.  The targets were different for shooting, of course, but the set-up was the same.  The coin flip was in Bucky’s favor this time.

“Hey, Bucky,” Tony called.  He turned around to face him.  “We agreed – no metal arm in this competition.”

Bucky smiled.  “I don’t need it,” he replied.  He took a step forward and fired off three shots in rapid succession, each burying themselves into the center of the target.  He could tell who had bet on him, because they applauded much more enthusiastically.  It had been more polite applause before.

Clint swore in admiration, then took his turn.  He was fairly accurate, hitting center twice.  The other two rounds were the same for Bucky, and much the same for Clint as well.   That was to be expected, it’s why Natasha had set it up the way she had.  While they prepared for the final competition, she rallied the audience and took more bets.

“Gentlemen, are you ready?” she asked, standing between them, putting her hands on each of their shoulders and leaning forward with a grin.

“You bet,” Clint replied, inspecting his bow.

“Sure,” Bucky replied.  He glanced at his rifle, but he knew how it fired.  He knew he could hit center every time, without thinking.  It might not be enough to make up for his archery attempts, however.

The last round of the competition was less than suspenseful.  Bucky hit every shot perfectly, and so did Clint.  The audience may have been on the edge of their seats, but Bucky knew how this would end up.  He smiled politely as people congratulated him on his marksmanship, on being able to rival Clint, if not outright beat him.

“Good job, Soldier.  I’m glad you’re on our side,” Clint told him with a grin.

“Thanks.  Maybe you can give me some pointers on archery so I can give you more of a challenge,” he replied.

“Looking forward to it, Buck.  Looking forward to it.”


	9. Now That We Have It, How Will We Make Use of It?

In which Bucky goes grocery shopping.

“Damn it, we’re out of bacon,” Steve said.

“The cereal’s gone, too,” Natasha added with a sigh.

Steve ran a hand threw his hair.  “I’m sorry, Buck, but we have to go.  Maybe Sam can swing by and pick up something for you.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky replied.  “I could go to the store while you’re gone,” he offered after a pause.

Natasha and Steve exchanged a glance.  “You sure you’re up for that, Buck?” Steve asked.

“It would be nice to get out of the tower for a while.  I can handle it.  Just tell me where to go,” Bucky said reassuringly.

“There’s a natural foods store two blocks south of here.  The prices are pretty high, but it’s close.  Don’t get anything we don’t need,” Natasha told him, taking some cash out of her wallet and handing it to him.

“Don’t go anywhere else.  Call me if you get lost or need any help,” Steve said, frowning deeply.

Bucky smiled.  “It’s two blocks, Steve.  I’m sure I won’t get lost.”

“Okay,” Steve mumbled doubtfully.  Natasha smiled at Bucky then lead Steve to the elevator.

Bucky waited until they had disappeared behind the elevator doors before heading back to his room.  He was hungry, so he wanted to go to the store now.  Ten minutes later, he was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt under a hoodie, light-weight gloves, and sneakers.  Pulling a cap over his long hair, he checked himself quickly in the mirror to make sure he wasn’t particularly recognizable; especially that his metal arm was not visible.  He’d just have to be careful not to let anything touch it.  Then he set off.

The elevator took him down the ground floor without talking to him, which was nice.  The entrance to the building was rather large and he felt somewhat uncomfortable in the vast, echoing space.  His shoes made little sound as he crossed the tile, headed for the front doors, which he appreciated.  The sunlight streamed in through the glass doors, and he blinked a few times as he approached them.  They were not locked, and he was soon standing outside on the sidewalk, the sun beating down on him.  It was warmer than expected.

Taking a moment to get his bearings, he hoped he did not look like a tourist, or other mark for pickpockets or muggers.  Mainly because he didn’t want to think about how he might react to such a threat.  Inhaling deeply, he turned and headed south, his hands in his pockets and his head down.

After a few minutes, he found the store Natasha had described.  It was small and reminded him of the grocer’s down the street when he was a kid, before it had consolidated to become a supermarket.  There was, however, a much wider selection here and he was a little overwhelmed to consider all the choices he had.  It was a shame that few of his memories from after moving out of his parents’ house and before going to war had returned, not that it had been a particularly long time period.  Some of it would certainly come in useful now.

Walking quickly, he left the more exposed area by the front door and plunged down an aisle to his right.  There were five aisles across the store, with rows of shelves standing higher than his head and stocked full.  Refrigerated sections lined the walls and were also packed with food.  The store was deeper than expected; perhaps forty feet in length.  There was a single man standing behind the cash register immediately to the left of the door (hence his going right), and four other patrons currently here.  He was careful to avoid them.

He remembered vaguely that his mother had always had a shopping list.  He hadn’t been to this kind of store with Steve or Natasha yet, so he didn’t know how things were done nowadays, but he saw that many of the people in the store were accessing lists either on paper or on their phones.  Without one, he wasn’t sure where to start.  Steve had said they needed bacon, and Natasha had said cereal.  Finding bacon was easier; it was in one of the refrigerated section against the wall.  There were several options, all declaring how healthy they were, in ways that he didn’t entirely understand.  He frowned, and picked one at random.  It looked good, anyway.

When he searched for cereal, he was surprised to find that there were two whole rows of cereals.  He knew it was a trend for cereal to be eaten instead of the traditional (and expensive) variety of meat and eggs after the war had started.  Meat was scarce, and alternatives were sought.  As far as he could recall, there had only been a couple of choices of breakfast cereals, though he didn’t think he’d had any before.  He knew now that there were many more varieties available, having seen four or five different kinds in their kitchen, but he was unprepared for the sheer volume of choices.

He walked slowly up and down each row, searching for any that were familiar.  Hesitantly, he chose a few that he was reasonably certain had been in their own stock beforehand.  Many of them looked quite similar, though, and he clearly hadn’t been paying enough attention to the subtle differences.  He sighed.  Natasha might not be pleased, but she’d at least be appreciative of his efforts.  The others would give him a hard time if he screwed this up.  Steve wouldn’t, at least not initially, but he would much prefer it he was successful.

Tucking his choices carefully under his left arm, not holding on too tightly, he wandered up and down the remaining rows he hadn’t yet explored.  It took some time to do so without attracting attention, and to avoid other people.  More were arriving, and he was growing agitated.  Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he focused on the contents of the shelves and reflected how vastly different this was from the war.  Things might not be great in this century, but there was a lot to be thankful for.

After a while, he became comfortable enough to pick up and inspect any items that caught his eye.  Some he put back, others he carried with him.  It took some time, but he eventually had gone through the whole store.  He’d selected a loaf of bread that reminded him of what his mom used to buy, some cheese in a portable cylindrical form, some kind of special peanut butter, raspberry preserves, thin-sliced turkey, and a quart of milk.  Carrying it all was somewhat challenging, due to the awkward shapes, but he managed.

Squaring his shoulders, he approached the cash register at last and resisted the urge to pull his cap further down over his face after he’d placed his selections on the counter.

“Did you find everything okay today, sir?” the man asked as he began moving the items across a metal inset containing a single light that was built into the counter in front of him.

“Yes,” he said after a moment, surprised to be called ‘sir.’  It reminded him strongly of being in the army, though it was something he said to others more than was addressed as.

“Paper or plastic?”

He frowned, perplexed.  He was aware that some people used cards on credit for purchases, and that these were made of plastic.  And money was paper, so perhaps that’s what was being addressed.  He cleared his throat.  “Paper,” he guessed.

The man nodded and continued ringing up the groceries.  Then he pulled out a brown paper bag and packed them in.  Bucky smiled slightly; he should have guessed that option.  He remembered that kind of bag from when he was a kid.

“That will be thirty-seven forty-two,” the man said, smiling politely at him.

The price was appalling, but he’d been paying attention to the cost of each thing as he went, so it didn’t come as a shock.  He couldn’t wait to tell Steve when he got home, though.  Well, commiserate with Steve, more accurately.  He handed over the cash Natasha had given him and wait patiently for the man to prepare his change. 

“Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, and fifty-eight cents,” the cashier said, counting it out as he gave him the difference.  “Do you need any assistance with that, sir?”

He frowned thoughtfully, unsure what kind of assistance was being offered.  “No,” he said after a moment.

“Have a nice day, sir.”

“Thank you,” Bucky answered as he tucked the money in his pocket, picked up his bags, and headed home, feeling accomplished.


	10. We’ve Been Committed — Now to What Do We All Commit?

In which the Avengers indulge in guilty pleasures.

            Tony likes gadgets.  That’s not surprising, and is really easy to tell within a few minutes of meeting him.  What is surprising is that he also likes to keep up with popular gadgets.  He reads magazines and goes out to buy the newest thing at midnight sometimes.  Most of these then become appropriated for some other use than was intended by the manufacturer, but Tony can’t seem to keep his hands off new toys, whether he made them or not.

Bruce is harder to read, especially since Bucky sees him so rarely.  What he does seem to enjoy is reading the paper or a science journal with a cup of tea.  He doesn’t drink coffee, but makes tea for himself every evening at five o’clock.  Then he reads whatever periodical they have on hand.  Bucky isn’t sure where these come from, if they are brought to the Tower for Bruce or just one of the things Tony (or, more accurately, Pepper) has done to make it feel more like home.  In any case, Bruce is rarely willing to do anything with his evening until after he’s done this little ritual.

What kind of food they eat on Asgard is a mystery, but Thor definitely enjoys “Midgardian” food, as he calls it.  He will eat a whole box of pop tarts if left to his own devices, particularly since Pepper showed him how to toast them before eating.  Bucky must admit they are delicious this way, though he isn’t used to eating quite so much sugar.  Thor enjoys other junk food, and will apparently eat anything.  Possibly because of their upbringing, or the serums that made them into what they are, Steve and then Bucky are considered voracious eaters, but Thor puts them to shame.  If they had an eating contest, which Bucky hopes doesn’t happen, Thor would easily win.

Perhaps because of his dangerous job, Clint prefers to spend at least some of his downtime indulging in creature comforts.  He doesn’t generally take baths, but he seems to enjoy being clean and making piles of pillows to sit or lay around in.  Bucky finds it a little odd, but Clint defends himself to the others, usually Tony, by saying that he spends enough time in run-down and terrible places for work.  When he is done, he wants to spend some time in the lap of luxury, and Avengers Tower provides that pretty well.

Sam is less obvious with what he enjoys doing, at least compared to Clint.  But it soon becomes apparent that he enjoys sleeping.  He can sleep anywhere, at any time, and Bucky is pretty sure he developed the same skill during the war.  It is a useful one.  When Sam stays overnight, he usually sleeps long into the next day if given half the chance.  If they watch television or anything else that involves lying around, he is usually unconscious within the first twenty minutes.  It is a light sleep, and he wakes easily if anything disturbs him.

Bucky doesn’t know how much of Steve he remembers, and how much he intuitively understands of his friend.  Reading people is, after all, one of the skills that was trained into him thoroughly, though generally in reference to combat situations.  In any case, they are often on the same page, and they share many of their downtime activities in some way.  One proclivity that Bucky doesn’t understand is Steve’s enjoyment of dark chocolate.  Maybe it is the serum, because he doesn’t think that was something he’d done before the war.  Of course, it wasn’t like such luxuries were easy to come by at the time.  So perhaps Steve enjoys being reminded of how special it was when they would save enough for a treat.  Bucky doesn’t remember any such occasion specifically, but has inferred from Steve’s statements that it did happen.

Steve is more old-fashioned than Bucky.  Probably because he remembers that life, and has had trouble adjusting to this one.  Bucky doesn’t remember much, and has done what he needed to survive in any situation that presented itself.  Perhaps he is thus more prepared for what happened to them, but he doesn’t know.  Steve is constant, unchanging; Bucky is adaptable.  So Steve’s likes and dislikes are obvious and solidified, while Bucky struggles to identify himself as his own person, let alone understand what he enjoys and what he doesn’t.

He supposes it is fortunate that Natasha is here, and understands that.  Clint does, too, but not to the same degree.  His experience with Loki is similar, but much shorter than Bucky’s.  Clint has recovered himself quite well, and doesn’t seem to be strongly affected by the circumstances that brought the Avengers together.  It is impossible to tell how much Natasha was affected by her upbringing, since there wasn’t anything else before it.  She wasn’t an adult when they turned her into what they needed.  Bucky wonders, with some amazement, if that’s why she is able to handle all of this so well.  She always seems comfortable, no matter what she is doing.

If Natasha has a guilty pleasure, it is likely watching television.  There are shows she enjoys that involve a variety of people talking about their lives very dramatically, often with bizarre and unlikely twists in the plot.  She keeps track of a diverse cast and is all too happy to discuss what is going on with each of them at any given time.  He has occasionally watched these shows with her, but they are too baffling for him to follow easily.  She tells him that some have been on the air for decades, and have followed that family or group of people over generations.  He supposes he can understand the allure of such a complicated story-structure, but it isn’t something he enjoys now.

When Bucky watches television, which is rare, he usually is limited to simple programs often designed for younger viewers.  As these are often educational, it does help him learn some of the things he’s missed.  Mostly, though, he dislikes being talked down to, and prefers to read internet sources.  Natasha and Steve have warned him about how this source can be skewed or full of outright lies, but it is certainly his best option.  When he wants to learn about the past, but sometimes the outline of his footprint on it distresses him too much to continue.

 

One afternoon, Bucky had been alone all day and was searching for something to do.  The shows Natasha likes were on, but most of the others held no interest for him.  The information he was reading on his tablet, a gift from Sam, was trending toward the sort of thing that might trigger him, and he didn’t want to risk that.  So, he was wandering aimlessly around their floor, pacing and occasionally mumbling to himself.  Steve hadn’t been around much lately, and Sam was back in DC.  Natasha was, as always, hard to pin down on her movements.  Sometimes she’d be around all day for a week, and then disappear for several weeks.  It was over a week since Bucky had last seen her.

The other Avengers were always around, of course, but he didn’t seek them out.   At the beginning, Steve had made sure he was never alone, and the others had taken some kind of shifts to keep him company.  Bucky had insisted, emphatically, that such precautions were no longer necessary, and now he had to deal with that.  Being surrounded all the time made him claustrophobic, and being alone made him regress and afraid of HYDRA capturing him again.  There wasn’t a solution.  It hadn’t been a pleasant discussion with Steve, and Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps that’s why Steve hadn’t been around much lately.

That wasn’t fair.  Steve undoubtedly had a good excuse not to spend his time babysitting a useless former assassin.  He would certainly have explained it to Bucky if he’d asked, but he hadn’t thought of it.  Bucky was aware that he didn’t catch many of the more subtle social cues, despite his ability to pick on miniscule tells in other situations.  It had taken him weeks to resist evaluating everyone he saw in terms of their physical weaknesses and combat skills.  Of course, he hadn’t seen anyone new lately, so maybe that was always going to be there.

He shook his head to clear it of his thoughts, and hoped he hadn’t been talking to himself the whole time.  It was, unfortunately, kind of a new sensation to be able to voice his ideas whenever he wished, and sometimes forgot that there were inappropriate times to do so.  Mostly, though, he erred on the side of silence, but he had gotten carried away occasionally.  Steve was particularly amused when he did that, though he usually guarded himself better than that when people were around.  Steve had been the only witness to his ramblings thus far, and he hoped to keep it that way.  He glanced around suspiciously, wondering how much the machine that ran the building paid attention to the tenants.

With a sigh, he forced his wandering feet in the direction of the kitchen, and turned on the light to stare at it blankly for a few moments.  Then he moved forward and opened the refrigerator.  It was pretty bare.  He didn’t think he had it in him to go shopping again, at least not while he was in his present level of agitation.  He swung the door closed and went to the pantry.  There were more options here in terms of pre-assembled dinners, as well as ingredients for baking.  He remembered that Natasha liked to bake from time to time, and he wondered what he could do with the available materials.

Cataloging his resources was something at which he was quite skilled.  He turned over the options in his head, and considered what he could do.  Biting his lip, he searched the rest of the kitchen for tools, which he pulled out and set on the counter.  Then he arranged the ingredients next to them, creating a workspace.  He did not think about the last time he’d made something more complicated than a sandwich, and preheated the oven.  While its temperature increased, he measured out the dry ingredients and sifted them together into a large bowl.  The sifter was brand new and not the easiest to use, but he managed. 

The oven was preheated by the time he’d finished sifting and he frowned slightly as he tried to remember what was next.  Eggs, he supposed.  He beat them in the mixer and added the vanilla and butter slowly, waiting until it was an even consistency before he slowly sifted the dry goods into the bowl.  It took some time, perhaps twenty minutes, until all the materials were uniform.  And smelling delicious.  He smiled.  Pouring the mix into a large pan, he spread it evenly and then placed it in the oven.  Now he just had to wait.

 

“Hey, Bucky, I’m back,” Steve called down the hallway.  “What smells amazing?”

Bucky pushed himself off of the counter where he had been sitting and leaned back with a smile as Steve walked into the kitchen.  “Brownies,” he replied, pleased with himself.

Steve grinned.  “Where did you learn to make brownies?”

“I have no idea,” he replied with a shrug, his smile fading slightly.  “But they’re really good.  Try one.”

Steve picked up the still-warm treat and ate it slowly.  “You should bake more often, Bucky,” he said sincerely.

Bucky smiled.


	11. I Used to Have a Home, Now I Don’t Even Have a Name.

In which Bucky and Steve revisit Coney Island.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Bucky said with a frown, staring out over the crowd of people.

“Me?  I thought it was Nat’s idea,” Steve replied, his tone almost as bemused as his friend’s.

They glanced at each other, then over at Natasha, who flashed them a winning smile.  “Obviously, it was Clint’s idea of a good weekend adventure,” she said matter-of-factly, pointing to where the archer was showing his skills at a nearby booth.  “I hope he doesn’t expect me to help carry all the stuffed animals he’s going to win today,” she added, turning to watch him.

“I’m sure we can give them to some of the kids running around,” Steve suggested, jumping out of the way as a group of children, all under twelve, ran by.  He turned to look at Bucky, who was holding very still.  “So if you want to try the skill games, don’t let Nat’s inexplicable hostility toward toys prevent you,” he said very seriously.

Natasha laughed and pushed him lightly.  “Shut up, Steve.  I don’t have anything against stuffed animals, especially not when they’re well-earned.  I just don’t want to have to lug them around all day.  We just got here, and,” she paused, glancing toward Clint, “he’s already won three.  Damn him,” she added affectionately.

Bucky cleared his throat.  “What else is there to do here?”

“Haven’t you guys been here before?  In ancient times?” Natasha asked.

“Maybe my memory is going.  Why don’t you explain it to us old folks,” Steve responded.

She shrugged.  “There’s an aquarium, bumper cars, maybe some karaoke, a Ferris wheel, the beach, a skating rink, a circus sideshow.”  She trailed off, looking around.  “Plenty of stuff to fill the day however you guys want.  Oh, and roller coasters.”

Bucky and Steve glanced at each other.  “That may not be a good idea,” Steve began at the same time that Bucky said “Just like old times.”

Natasha looked between them sharply.  “It would help if you guys would finish each other’s sentences when you insist on talking at the same time,” she grumbled.

“We’ve been here before, when we were kids,” Steve explained, after a pause to see if Bucky would speak first.  As usual, he kept silent.

“And?”

He shrugged.  “We went on the Cyclone and I threw up.”

She smirked a little.  “I can’t imagine you having motion sickness, Rogers.”

“It was before the serum,” Bucky interjected. 

She glanced at him and nodded.  “Well, you want to try it again now that you’re super-human?”

Steve watched Bucky again for a response, which didn’t come.  “It might be fun,” he conceded.

“Come on, then, boys.  I’m rather fond of roller coasters myself,” she said, and led them away.

“What about Barton?” Bucky asked Steve quietly as they weaved through the crowd after the redhead.

Steve looked back, then back at his friend.  “I’m sure he’ll catch up.  And we can always give him a call if he doesn’t.”

Bucky nodded uncertainly and lowered his eyes to the ground, concentrating.  People passed by, many quite close to him.  He pulled his arm, the left one, closer to his body to lessen the likelihood of anyone making contact with it.  He could feel Steve’s eyes on him and forced himself to relax, follow Natasha, relax, dodge that family, relax, step over the nachos on the ground, relax, check on Natasha again, relax, duck under the scaffolding, relax.  By the time they had reached the area where they could get on the rides, he was regretting his decision to be coaxed out of Avenger’s tower today.  If he hadn’t been, he could have been on the couch, in his comfy clothes, watching Good Eats and reading during the commercials (advertisements were baffling these days).

“Look, Buck, the Cyclone,” Steve interrupted his thoughts, pointing.

He glanced up obediently and took a deep breath.  It was big, perhaps bigger than he remembered.  Steve no doubt thought it much smaller and less intimidating.  He forced a smile as Natasha turned to face them.

“Well, you guys ready?  I haven’t been on one of these in a long time,” she said with a grin.

“You don’t have to,” Steve assured him quietly.

Setting his shoulders, Bucky said “Let’s do it,” to both of them.

Natasha’s smile grew, and she went to get them tickets.  Steve was looking at him carefully, seeming surprised.  He looked at the ground and reminded himself to relax.  This was fun.  This was supposed to be fun.  There wasn’t any reason for him not to enjoy going on a ride.  It wasn’t as though he’d ever gotten motion sickness, and he’d certainly been in more dangerous situations.  They let kids on this thing, and they’d all survived just fine.  He could tell Steve wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but he fortunately resisted.  Or at least couldn’t think of what to say before Natasha got back, and they got in line.

Steve and Natasha chatted while they waited.  Sometimes they asked Bucky a direct question and simply nodding or grunting was not a sufficient response.  Mostly, though, they let him be alone with his thoughts, which was preferable.  At some point, Clint found them, and the three of them talked together comfortably while Bucky wondered how to avoid getting in this kind of situation in the future.  He studied the structure before him and was somewhat relieved to find that it had certainly been updated and maintained periodically in his seventy-year long absence.  It wasn’t that tall, as these things go, and didn’t involve anything too complicated.  It was from a simpler time.  Like him.

There wasn’t any reason to be worried, he chided himself.  He had, after all, done this before.  Just because he didn’t remember didn’t mean anything.  The actual memory hadn’t surfaced, but he did recall teasing Steve about it later, during the war.  The events following that were not something he liked to consider, but certainly the first time he had come here would have been a somewhat pleasant memory.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked quietly, bumping his shoulder lightly as they took a few steps forward.

“I’m fine,” he replied automatically.

Steve looked toward Natasha and Clint, who were deeply engrossed in a discussion about where all of Clint’s prizes would go when they got on the roller coaster, then back at Bucky.  “I’m not too fond of heights myself,” Steve said gently.  “But we’ll be strapped in really well.  Or you can wait for us to get done,” he suggested.

Bucky shook his head, eyes narrowing.  “I should do it,” he replied resolutely.

Steve smiled grimly.  “You sound like me.”

The comment surprised something like a laugh from Bucky.  “Well, that’s terrible news,” he answered, still smiling.

“Yeah, there’s no telling how any stupid things we’ll do if you start acting like me,” Steve agreed.

“Come on, fellas, let’s do this,” Natasha interrupted, waving them forward.

Tentatively, Bucky followed Steve onto the roller coaster.  They sat together, with Natasha and Clint in the seat in front of them.  Others climbed into the ride behind them and Bucky took a deep breath as he strapped himself into his seat.  There were children less than half his (real) age, he reminded himself.  And they looked delighted, not nervous.  He hadn’t had an episode in months; this shouldn’t trigger him.  In any case, he’d worked hard to be able to tell when things were about to, and then he would tell Steve.  Steve would know what to do.

The car started to climb, and he could hear the elation of the people around him, and couldn’t help but be caught up in the building excitement.  They climbed eighty-five feet before plunging down and around and up and down, the wind whipping passed his face as he tightened his grip on the edges of the car.  In a very short amount of time, especially considering how long they’d been in line, they rolled into a stop where they had started.

“Well, what did you think?” Natasha asked, turning halfway to look at Bucky and Steve as she climbed out of the car, helping Clint with the stuffed animals he’d won.

“I shouldn’t have eaten before that,” Steve grumbled, getting up shakily.

Natasha looked at Bucky expectantly, and he smiled at her.  “Let’s do that again,” he said emphatically.  Steve groaned.


	12. I’m Nothing But a Number, Here We Are All the Same

In which Bucky visits some familiar graves.

            “Hey, Nat, have you seen Bucky?” Steve asked, pausing in her doorway.

She looked up from the magazine she was reading.  “Not lately, sorry, Rogers.”

He frowned slightly, gazing ahead of him.  Then he turned back to her.  “Okay, well, let me know if you do.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” she assured him.  “He’ll turn up.”

“I thought he was a ghost story,” Steve answered, teasing lightly.

She grinned.  “Not anymore, Steve.”  He smiled in response, and went to keep looking.

 

The sun was bright overhead as Bucky walked slowly through the grass.  It was warm on his black clothing and he wondered vaguely if he should have dressed differently for this.  Certainly black was the appropriate color, but sweatpants and a hoodie were probably not.  He pulled the glove tighter on his left hand when he saw people walking ahead, and reminded himself that he had a right to be here.  They wouldn’t insist he leave.  Not as long as they didn’t know who he was, anyway.

The cemetery was large, and he gazed idly at the names and epitaphs as he walked.  No bells rung in his head, which he supposed was nice.  A few made him pause, frowning, but nothing concrete came to him.  He didn’t know why he had come here, what drove him to leave the tower without telling Steve, or anyone, where he intended to go.  And now he was here, wandering aimlessly, avoiding any mourners.  Any _other_ mourners?  He didn’t know if he fit in that category or not.

He knew he was going in the right direction because the tombstones were getting older.  The dates on each went further and further back, the flowers less prevalent.  He inhaled deeply when he saw a familiar name, but he couldn’t place it, didn’t know why it made his chest ache to see it there.  He kept walking after a momentary pause.  Some part of him was pleased that he’d regained control of himself so quickly, but he didn’t think that would last.

The name Michael Proctor caused him to stop in his tracks, and search his brain for a reason, before he glanced at the next gravestone: Rebecca P. Barnes Proctor.  Without a thought, he dropped to his knees in front of the latter grave and read the limited amount of information on the stone as quickly as he could.  His breath caught in his chest when he saw that, while her husband had died more than two decades ago, his sister had only been gone a year.

That was too close.  He could almost have…  Almost have what?  He pressed himself.  Met her again?  Gone to visit her now, being such a mess?  Confuse her with the sight of her long-dead brother, changed into a killing machine for the last seventy years?  How could he even consider such a thing?  No good would come of him reuniting with the people from his old life.  Whether he was supposed to keep his identity a secret or not hadn’t really been discussed, at least to him, but he was certainly of the opinion that the fewer people who knew what happened to Bucky, the better.  He didn’t want to poison the memory of a man who had been a hero, and was still held as one, decades later.  It wasn’t him, not anymore.

With difficulty, he pulled himself to his feet.  Rebecca’s gravestone stated that she was survived by her children and he clenched his jaw.  There was no reason to consider going to see them, to check on them, but somehow he knew he needed to at least make sure they were alright.  He owed her that, at least.  For leaving her during the war, for taking care of Steve better than he had her.  His memories from then were hazy, and few and far between, but he did remember feeling guilty about her.

His gait was unsteady as he moved away from her, and her husband, and came upon a grave he remembered visiting before.  Perhaps that was why he knew where to go; he hadn’t done any kind of research prior to coming here today.  George M. Barnes, beloved father, he read.  This grave didn’t bother him like Rebecca’s had; he knew his dad was gone.  He was still Bucky when that happened.  He pensively cleaned off the small amount of dirt and dead leaves that marred the site.  There were a lot of questions he would have liked to put to his father, about being a soldier and being a man, but he kept them to himself.  He certainly wouldn’t know how to respond to what happened to his son.

Next to him, unsurprisingly, was Winifred C. Barnes.  Winifred had always seemed like such a cold name for her; most people had just called her Winnie.  The knowledge hit him like a ton of bricks, and he dropped again, surprised at the returning memories.  None had come back in quite a while, but he could remember the smell of her, the way her dress swished when she moved around the kitchen, the sound of her voice chiding him, teasing his father, laughing at something Dad had said.  They were impressions only, nothing long and detailed like most of his memories of missions.  The thought made him ache; these memories might truly be gone.  Might never come back, and he was left guessing at what kind of man he was before the war.

The loss of his mother, and sister, felt fresh.  He had known, of course, that they were gone.  That everyone from his life and Steve’s was gone except Peggy.  Seventy years was such a long time.  But being here and facing the truth was both necessary for him and somehow fracturing.  He knew he had come here to see for himself, to remind himself that there was no going back to how things used to be.  Everything had changed, no matter how desperately Steve wanted them to fall back into their old friendship.  That wasn’t possible anymore.

Most of the changes he had learned about had had little effect on him.  He was still the Soldier, always would be in some way, and could react to events with the drive to overcome them, rather than be upset by them.  He hadn’t expected seeing his mother and sister here to hurt quite so much, but perhaps that was the last part of Bucky he had left.

 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve’s voice was quiet behind him. 

He wondered, briefly, if he was imagining it.  When he turned to face him, he was startled that his skinny friend was that no longer.  He pulled his thoughts out of their fading past and reminded himself that he knew Steve was not the sickly kid he remembered.  “Hey,” he said falteringly.

“It’s a nice place, very peaceful.  Good shade,” Steve continued gently, motioning toward the tree that stood nearby.

“Yeah,” he answered.

Steve looked around briefly.  “You saw Rebecca’s,” he said, not a question.

“Yeah,” he replied, nodding slowly.

Steve cleared his throat.  “I went to see her once, before,” he mumbled.

“You did?”  He got to his feet, feeling a sort of desperation he hadn’t expected.

Nodding, Steve turned and walked slowly to Rebecca, waiting for Bucky to follow.  He did.  “She was pretty old, Buck.  She didn’t really recognize me, I don’t think.  Or believe I was real, maybe,” Steve said softly, looking down at the grave.

“Oh,” he replied, feeling his heart drop in his chest.

Steve met his eye.  “She talked a lot to me, though, about you.  It was great to be able to talk about you, with someone who knew you, even if she didn’t think I was really there.”  He paused.  “She was happy, Buck.  She had a good life,” he said reassuringly.

He turned away, frowning deeply.  “Good,” he muttered.

“I’m sure she would have wanted to see you,” Steve added after a pause.

With a bitter smile, he wondered how Steve could always read him so well.  “Would she?” he asked coldly.

“Yes.  She would have grinned to see you, and you’d have to fight to smile back, because seeing her in her nineties was so painful.  But then it would be like old times, with her chattering away about her great older brother and his little friend Steve, and how happy she was during the war before they both went away.  And then how she met Michael and got married and became a doctor, and how wonderful that life was, too,” Steve explained gently.

He rubbed his face with his hand, not surprised when it came away wet.  “Thank you, Steve,” he mumbled.

Steve put his hand on his shoulder and waited patiently for him to compose himself.  Bucky wondered what other ghosts this place held for him.  “Want to see us?” Steve asked, his voice almost cheerful.

Bucky looked up at him with an eyebrow raised.  “Us?”

“Yeah, come on,” Steve said, his smile almost cheeky as he moved away.  Bucky followed, as always.

They stood side by side, staring down at their own graves.  It was a strange feeling.  James Buchanan Barnes, 1917-1944, Steve Rogers, alias Captain America, 1918-1945.  He cleared his throat, ignoring the way the inscriptions on both stones made him ache.  People had loved both of them.

“I’d think your grave would be somewhere a little more… patriotic,” he said.

Steve laughed.  “It is.  They never found my body, obviously, so I think there are two or three places that claim to be my final resting place.  Your sister arranged this one,” he added, voice becoming serious.

Bucky smiled.  “I’m sure she did.  She’d have wanted us to stay together after the war.”

“She’d be happy that we did,” Steve answered.  Bucky nodded in silent agreement, reading the words that she must have commissioned to be put on their tombstones.

_“America was not built on fear.  It was built on courage, on imagination, and unbeatable determination to do the job at hand.” – Harry S Truman_

_“The test of leadership is not to put greatness into humanity, but to elicit it, for the greatness is already there.” – James Buchanan._


	13. We’ve Lost So Much, So Many of Those We Love Are Dead

In which surprise birthdays are celebrated.

Bucky was sitting on the couch in the living room, his tablet on his lap, reading.  Trying to catch up, like always.  Well, on good days, he looked into all that had happened since he was last in the world.  On bad days, when he struggled with his own circumstances, that sort of thing didn’t seem too important.  Today was a good day.

“Hey, James,” Natasha’s voice brought his thoughts out of the past and into the present and he looked up to smile faintly at her.  Her eyes were bright with mischief and his expression faltered as he contemplated what that might mean for him.

“What is it?” he asked hesitantly.

“I need you to do something for me,” she answered, smirking.

He cleared his throat, glancing briefly around the room.  “What?”

“Take Steve and go shopping for a while.  I’ll text you when you can come back,” she told him seriously.

His brow furrowed.  “Take him where?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out, Barnes.”

Still frowning, he got to his feet and went to fetch his shoes and gloves.  Then he went in search of Steve.  His friend was downstairs, jogging on the indoor track.  That probably meant it was raining outside.  Bucky waited patiently for Steve to finish, uncertain about the time table of this particular mission.  Natasha hadn’t specified when they needed to leave.

“Hey, Buck, what’s up?” Steve asked somewhat breathlessly as he came to a halt beside him.

“Were you finished?”

“Yeah, that’s enough running for today.  It’s pretty boring in here,” Steve replied, accustomed by now to the way Bucky rarely answered indirect questions these days.

Thoughtfully, Bucky looked around the area and concluded that, yes, it was not visually stimulating.  “Do you want to go to the store with me?”

“Sure thing, Buck, let me just get changed.  Where are we going?” Steve asked as he led the way to the elevator.

As the doors dinged closed, Bucky considered if he was supposed to say this was Natasha’s idea or not.  “The bookstore,” he said after a moment.

Steve smiled at him faintly.  “The big one?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, thinking that would be the best way to kill some time.

“Alright.  Be right back,” Steve said, and left Bucky waiting near the elevators.  He glanced around almost nervously as he considered whether or not they were already supposed to have left the building.  Fortunately, Steve didn’t take too long to get ready, and they were soon back on the elevator.  He pulled his sleeves down around his wrists and slipped on his black gloves.  They might be remarked upon, and had been from time to time, but a shiny metal hand would definitely be noticed.

He was silent on the ride to the bookstore.  Barnes & Noble’s, it was called.  Someone, probably Tony, had joked that it would be a good name for him and Steve.  He didn’t disagree, but didn’t like to think about it.  Perhaps it cut a little too close to home.  Steve was used to his general reticence and didn’t interrupt his thoughts as they drove.

“Are you after anything in particular, Buck?” Steve asked as they walked into the building.  It was two stories, and largely open on the first floor.  There was a Starbucks in the corner, another thing Tony had called them.

“No,” he replied, glancing around and pulling his cap a little lower over his head.  Steve smiled at him before doing the same.

“Okay, well, I’ll let you wander.  Come find me when you’re ready,” Steve said amiably, then headed off to explore on his own.

Bucky watched him go, wondering how so few people recognized Captain America.  He definitely looked like a damn superhero.  Shaking his head, he walked around and looked for a new book to read.  His tablet was useful, and he had gotten quite a few books on it, but there was something pleasant about the feel of having a real book in his hands.  Hand.

 

After about half an hour, his phone buzzed and he set down the cookbook he’d been perusing to check the text.  “Come home, James J” it read.  He bit his lip, and looked at the four books he’d been considering.  After a moment, he chose two and went in search of Steve.  He was not surprised to find him in the art section.  People walking by were pausing to look at Steve thoughtfully before continuing.  He wondered if anyone had stopped him today.

“Hey, you ready?” he asked quietly.

Steve glanced up, momentarily surprised.  “Oh, sure.  You getting those?”

“Yeah.”

“Great.  Let’s go.”

Other than the cashier looking at Steve intently, as though trying to place him, they left the store and got back to the car without incident.  Bucky wondered what he should be expecting when he got back to the tower.  If Natasha was up to something, he was pretty sure that was reason to worry.  He glanced over at Steve and contemplated if he should say something as they parked.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked, his tone light, but expression concerned.

He took a deep breath.  “I’m fine, Steve,” he answered shortly.

“Alright.”

They walked over to the elevator and Bucky clutched the bag with his books a little tighter than was necessary as he watched the numbers increase.  “Natasha told me to get you out of the house for a while,” he said suddenly, right before the doors opened.

Steve looked at him quizzically, and was about to respond when the elevator stopped and they were greeted with deafening shouts of “Surprise!”

“Wow,” Steve said with a grin, looking out at the heavily decorated living area.  “It’s not my birthday,” he added, taking in one of the banners.

“Yeah, well, Pepper figured you fellas had missed a few and probably wouldn’t mind trying to make that up,” Tony explained, smiling.

The rest of the Avengers stood around the table, which contained a very large cake thoroughly covered in candles.  It was possible that they rendered it inedible from all of the wax dripping onto the top.  There were balloons and streamers, mostly red, white, and blue, filling the rest of the room.  Glancing at Steve, who looked at him reassuringly, Bucky stepped forward and over to look at the cake.  In the center of it, there weren’t any candles and it said “Happy Birthday, Cap and Bucky!!!”  He smiled hesitantly.

“I’m surprised the smoke isn’t setting off any alarms,” he said, gesturing to all the candles.

“Yeah, did you really need all of these?” Steve asked, joining him to look.

Natasha sighed heavily.  “Did we need one hundred and ninety-one candles?  No, Steve, we didn’t.  But people generally put the number of candles as the age of the birthday boy, so it seemed fitting.  Plus, then we needed a huge cake, and I’m sure no one here is going to complain about that.”

“I’m certainly not,” Clint agreed with a grin.

“I have not had Midgardian cake before, but I look forward to trying it,” Thor added.

“See, it’ll be worth it,” Tony explained triumphantly.

Bucky looked at Steve again.  “Well, punk, you think you can manage to blow these out?”

“I don’t know, jerk.  It’s a lot more than I ever expected to see, but my lungs are pretty great these days,” Steve answered.

“Not yet,” Pepper chided.  “We have to sing.”

The assembled Avengers groaned at that idea, but she gave them a look that reminded Bucky of Peggy when she was commanding a room.  It was very effective.  Dutifully, everyone sang Happy Birthday while Bucky and Steve looked at each other, at the cake, and awkwardly around the room.  When it was finished, they clapped along with everyone else, then leaned forward to blow out the candles.  It took a while.

“Finally!” Tony said when they were all out.

“Why don’t you boys take a seat and I’ll cut the cake,” Natasha suggested.

“I think Bucky’s better with a knife, Nat,” Clint teased.

“That can be his job at other people’s birthdays, then,” she replied with dignity.

“I can’t say I have a lot of experience with cutting desserts,” Bucky admitted as he and Steve took a seat on the other side of the table.  Natasha smiled as she sliced deftly through the cake, and put two pieces on plates for them.  They started eating while she and Clint served everyone else.  “How is it?” she asked.

“Delicious,” Steve replied.

“Did you make it?” Bucky asked.

“No, we got it at the store.  We don’t really have the tools to make one this size,” Pepper explained, digging into her own slice.

“I can make whatever tools we need,” Tony interjected, sounding hurt.

Bruce patted him on the shoulder.  “I’m sure making a cake for all of us would be quite a challenge, not just because of the size of our kitchen supplies,” he said calmingly.

Tony frowned at him, but then Clint handed him a slice and he focused on eating.  Once everyone had been served, they found places to sit and enjoyed the cake.

“How’d you guys get all this up?” Steve asked, motioning to all the decorations.

“Legolas has some pretty useful arrows,” Tony answered with a grin.

“We also did it the old-fashioned way,” Pepper added, smirking.

“It looks great.  Right, Buck?  Best birthday we’ve ever had,” Steve stated, elbowing Bucky lightly.

“That’s definitely true,” Bucky agreed.  He looked around the room, taking it in.  “We were lucky to get cake more than once a year, usually for Christmas.  We certainly couldn’t afford this kind of decorating.”

“Well, good thing you guys came here, then,” Pepper said kindly.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied with a smile.

“Is everyone ready for presents?” Tony called to the room.  The response was exuberant, and Bucky couldn’t help but be swept up in it.  It reminded him of partially recalled memories of his childhood, and it felt like home.


	14. How Do I Get These Memories Out of My Fucking Head?

In which Steve and Bucky go to a baseball game and some things come up.

Bucky awoke abruptly, but not in a cold sweat as was usually the case.  The memory that had been returning was not complete, and he wanted to know what happened next.  It was from before the war, and those memories were harder to piece together than those of things that came after (unfortunately).  He pulled himself out of bed and grabbed a shirt before heading to Steve’s room.  Pausing outside, he wondered what time it was.  The floor was dark, but he could see sunlight streaming in through the edges of the windows that weren’t covered by shades.  Or whatever the proper name for the high-tech version was.

He listened carefully at the door before knocking twice.  “Just a minute,” Steve called, sounding out of breath.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Bucky said when Steve opened the door.  He’d clearly been exercising.  “We have training rooms for that,” he added.

Steve smiled.  “I use those, too.  It takes a lot of effort to look like this, you know,” he explained with a smirk.

Bucky snorted.  “Howard Stark’s and Dr. Erskine’s effort, you mean.”

“You’re right, I don’t go to the gym, I’m just naturally like this.  You should probably think about going more often before your left arm looks completely different from your right,” Steve advised solemnly.

Bucky punched him, lightly, on the shoulder with his right arm.  “Seems strong enough to me,” he replied.

“Good to hear.  Can I help you with something, or did you just come by to give me a hard time?” Steve asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Bucky shrugged.  “Don’t underestimate how often that pays off.  But I came to ask you about something,” he added, the cockiness disappearing from his voice.

“What is it?” Steve responded quietly, no longer teasing.

“I was dreaming, well, remembering.  You were there.  We were in this place, a stadium, I think.  And there was someone announcing what was happening down below.  On a field,” he said slowly.

Steve’s face split into a grin.  “You were dreaming about baseball?”

Bucky considered this.  “Yes, I think so.  Did we go to any baseball games?”

“We sure did, whenever we could afford it.  We’d get peanuts and cracker jacks, just like the song.  It was great.  Your dad used to take us before we were old enough to go ourselves,” Steve explained.

“He did?  I don’t remember much from back then,” he admitted.

“That’s alright, Buck.  Do you want to tell me about it while I make breakfast?”

“Sure,” he replied and followed Steve to the kitchen.  The memory seemed to fade the more he tried to focus on it.  “Do they still play baseball?”

Steve laughed.  “Of course they do.  Do you want to go to a game?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, think about it.  It would be a fun thing to do to get out of the house,” Steve said as he laid bacon out in a frying pan and it began to sizzle.

“Alright.  Is it baseball season?” he wondered aloud.

“It is.  JARVIS, are there any professional baseball games we can go to today?” Steve asked.

Bucky glanced up in surprise when the AI answered.  He’d never get used to it.  It (he?) described a location and a time that afternoon.  “Let’s go,” he said.  Maybe it would jog his memory.  Most of the things that came back were either impressions of how things used to be, or specific memories.  The one from that morning had seemed more like a particular event than anything else, and he wondered what had made it special.

After breakfast, Steve went downstairs to train more intensely.  Bucky joined him from time to time, but was enjoying having the freedom to refuse whenever he wished.  He spent the morning reading, mostly researching baseball and all the changes that had occurred since he had last been to a game.  There were, unsurprisingly, quite a few.

 

“You ready to go, Buck?  We can get lunch there, if you want,” Steve suggested, standing in the doorway of Bucky’s room.

“Sure,” he replied and pulled on his hat and gloves before following Steve down to the ground floor.  They walked to the subway, somewhere Steve had only just begun to trust Bucky with using, and waited patiently until they reached the desired stop.  Bucky focused on ignoring the mass of people pressing in close to him, and keeping anyone from noticing his prosthesis.  It was proving to be a challenge.

They disembarked from the vehicle with some difficulty.  Bucky wondered if it was always like that, or if they were just there at a bad time.  When they reached the field, there was already quite a line.  Bucky didn’t mind waiting in line; it was generally organized and preferable to any of the other crowds in which he might find himself.  When they reached the ticket counter, Steve paid their way in and they walked around toward the entrance.

“Wow, tell me that wasn’t what it cost my dad when he took us,” Bucky muttered.

Steve glanced back with a grim smile.  “I know, everything’s so expensive these days.  I think your dad could have taken all of our friends and their families for less than this.”

“Are they good seats at least?”

“I think so.  I guess we’ll find out,” Steve replied with a shrug as they reached the person who took their tickets and were directed to their seats.

“Not bad,” Bucky said as they sat down.

“Yeah, it’s a good view.  I’ll go get lunch,” Steve offered.

“Thanks.”  Bucky took careful stock of his surroundings after Steve left; it was a habit.  The field was certainly quite new, definitely not one he had been in before.  Still, the setup was vaguely familiar and tugged a little at the back of his mind.  When Steve returned with stadium food, they ate silently while watching the game.  Bucky looked over at Steve from time to time and smiled to himself at how engaged his friend appeared to be with the events happening down on the field.  He supposed he must have once felt the same way, but that sort of thing hadn’t come back fully yet.

The sun moved overhead and the players on the field moved as well as he watched, impressions returning as the game progressed.  The home team was losing; perhaps that was why Steve was upset.  At the bottom of the ninth, they were down three runs.  Player after player came forward and got on the bases until they were loaded.  They just might make it, he thought.  The next batter was up, and the crowd cheered.  Bucky supposed he must be well-known.

The crack of the bat hitting the ball was audible even in the nosebleed seats, and the announcer was very excited as the ball flew toward one of the outfielders.  The player ran to catch the ball, but dove and missed.  It hit the ground and rolled passed him all the way to the wall, with him hastily getting to his feet and attempting to chase it down.  While he did this, the runners rushed around the bases and made it home.

The crowd went wild.  Steve jumped to his feet and yelled as well, and Bucky was surprised to find himself doing the same.  They looked at each other and grinned.  “Just like old times, huh, Buck?” Steve shouted over the noise.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, eyes narrowing as he concentrated.

“You don’t remember?  When we went to the game in May of ’41.  Pete Reiser hit an inside the park grand slam.  It was great,” Steve explained, lowering his voice as the noise decreased.

“I don’t,” Bucky admitted slowly, but was still frowning in thought.

Steve smiled at him and sat back down.  “Might as well wait a bit,” he said.

Bucky sat down next to him.  They watched the crowd gather up its things to leave for a while.  “I think that’s what my dream was about,” he muttered tentatively.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe.  Is that why I remembered it specifically?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, turning to face him.

He shrugged.  “I remember things that we did, but not specifically.  Just that they happened.  If I do remember a particular event, it usually means something special was involved.”

Steve smiled again.  “I think it was a pretty big game.  And you really liked baseball.”

“I think I still do,” he replied with a similar smile.  “When’s the next game?”

Steve laughed.  “I don’t know, but we can certainly come.”

“I can’t wait.”


	15. Heaven Help Us, Where Do We Begin?

In which Christmas is celebrated.

For the first time in months, Bucky woke up from a nightmare.  It was the same one, essentially, that he’d been having for the better part of a year.  Still, it had been a while since his sleep had been thus disturbed, and he had trouble shaking himself out of it.  Sighing, he sat up in bed and ran his flesh hand across his face and through his hair, the left one remaining on the bed.  He turned on the lamp on his bedside table, but the room was dark and he fought against the way the shadowy corners made him feel.  Exhaustion filled him but he dragged himself out of bed, pulled on a shirt, and left his bedroom.

The rest of the floor he shared with Steve was dark and silent, and he walked slowly up and down the corridor, watching the lights near the floor turn on and off as they detected the motion.  He focused on the details rather than the thoughts passing through his mind against his will.  Eventually, he was interrupted by the sound of the elevator dinging faintly on his level.  He stopped in his tracks and frowned toward it.

“Natalia,” he said when she stepped out of it.

She grinned at him.  “Why are you up so early, Barnes?  I was trying to surprise you,” she explained, holding up a bag.

His eyes narrowed in confusion as he looked at it.  “With what?” he asked.

“Oh, Bucky,” she said, his nickname sounding strange on her lips.  “Come with me.”

She led the way to the living room and set the bag down on the couch, flipping the lights on to see the room better.  He followed, hanging back a bit, and watched her.  Cocking his head, he noted that she was wearing a long red shirt with white fur at the sleeves and green leggings, with black boots.  He was momentarily confused before she pulled two hats out of the bag and tossed one to him before putting the other one her head.  Things had changed a lot in seventy years, but these he recognized.

“It’s Christmas,” he said slowly.

“Yes, James,” she answered with a smirk as he hesitantly put the Santa cap on his head.  “Why are you up so early?  Since it’s apparently not excitement for new presents,” she added.  He shrugged, looking at the floor.  “James.  Talk to me,” she tried in Russian.

Sometimes he found it easier to talk to her in that language.  Perhaps because then he didn’t have to worry about what anyone else (read: Steve) might think of what he had to say.  Despite the often overwhelming support of all those affiliated with the Avengers, sometimes he didn’t think any of them really understood what the last seventy years had been.

“What if I hadn’t recognized Steve?” he asked painfully.

She set the bag down and stepped over to him, taking his hand gently in hers.  “But you did,” she insisted.  “You saved him.”  Leading him to the couch, she sat him down and squeezed his hand before releasing and returning to rummaging through the bag.  As she did so, she began to sing softly in Russian.  He was surprised to recognize the song as a lullaby.  Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the couch cushions and just listened.

Perhaps he fell asleep, because, when he opened his eyes again, their living room was completely transformed.  There were evergreen swags hanging between all the surfaces and intertwined with little lights, as well as streamers and figurines.  Natasha was sitting on the chair opposite him, smiling when he looked at her.  He took in the room and was appreciative of how it made Christmas seem much more Russian than he remembered it.

“It looks great, Natalia,” he said.

“Thank you, James.  You can’t open your presents yet,” she added with a grin.

“No?”

“Pepper insists we all open presents together.  Tradition, she claims.”  Natasha paused, thoughtfully.  “There wasn’t any Christmas in the Red Room.  Do you remember Christmases before that?”

No one else would ask him a question like that.  They all stepped carefully around his memory loss.  “Nothing concrete.  I don’t know what our traditions were, in any case.  I remember eating and laughing with my parents and Rebecca and Steve,” he offered.

She smiled.  “That sounds nice.  There will probably be quite a bit of eating today.  Pepper and I worked it all out a few days ago.  We don’t want the same problem we had at Thanksgiving,” she added very seriously.

He snorted.  “No, we shouldn’t repeat that,” but he smiled when he said it.

“Well, it’s almost dawn.  Close enough.  JARVIS!  Wake everyone up, please,” she called.

“Miss Romanoff,” the AI began.

“I don’t care what Tony told you.  Wake him and the rest up.”

“Yes, Miss Romanoff.”

 

Before long, the sleepy-eyed Avengers had wandered into the living room.  They complimented Natasha on the decorating.  Steve patted Bucky’s shoulder and looked briefly concerned at him, but didn’t say anything about how tired he likely looked.  The others, especially Tony, looked rather exhausted.  Bucky wondered if Tony had gotten more than an hour or two of sleep.  He rarely went to bed until early morning.

“Well, everyone have a seat and let’s open presents,” Pepper said authoritatively.  It was good she was there to keep them all in line.

Bucky was glad to already have a chair, and a glance at Natasha made it obvious she felt the same.  She was smirking, as usual.  Sam wasn’t there, he’d gone to his family, but the rest took a few minutes to find somewhere to sit.  Most of the horizontal surfaces were covered with decorations, which was somewhat inconvenient.  There was a tree in the corner, and had been for a few weeks; Bucky hadn’t thought about it in a while.  It was more festive than it had been, and there were presents arrayed beneath it.

“Thor, since you’re closest to the tree, could you pass the gifts around?” Pepper asked the Asgardian.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor and smiled at the request.  “Of course,” he answered.  Bucky could remember him talking about his excitement for a real ‘Midgardian’ Christmas celebration.

Pepper insisted that everyone take turns opening their gifts, though some people (mainly Tony and Clint) had to be repeatedly reminded.  Between Pepper and Natasha, they kept everyone organized and at least somewhat focused on the task at hand.  When all had been opened, they dispersed briefly to put their new things away (or play with them) before breakfast.  Bucky was surprised to have gotten a gift from everyone, even Jane Foster, and very pleased.  He was also glad he and Steve had made sure they’d gotten something for everyone, largely hand-made.

They assembled for breakfast, which involved more food than Bucky was sure they had been able to have at any of the Christmases in his past.  There was bacon, eggs, ham, juice (orange and apple), biscuits, sausage gravy, sausage links, pancakes, waffles, fruit, coffee cake.  Before long, he was more full than he could ever recall being.  They talked and laughed and the conversation was light.  Missions weren’t mentioned, mainly stories of other family celebrations from the past.  Steve told a few about Bucky and their families, and Bucky remembered some bits and pieces of these.  He sat between Steve and Natasha, which was usually his spot, and was reassured by Natasha’s reticence in regards to joining in the conversation, at least in the story-teller capacity.  She had plenty of witty comments to add to the others’.

After breakfast, Pepper told them that the dinner would be at two o’clock in the afternoon, and Bucky wondered if anyone would be hungry again for that.  The food and the company was working and he felt very content.  With little coaxing, Steve got him back to his room and suggested he take a nap for a while.  He agreed, and collapsed on his bed, surprised at the feeling of happiness that filled him.

 

The dinner was as sumptuous a feast as breakfast.  There was ham and turkey, with too many side dishes for him to keep track of.  The conversation was similar, too, though now that everyone was awake, it tended more toward amusing mission stories.  Bucky had none of these from being the Soldier, at least none he recalled, but there were a few Howling Commando stories he was able to tell.  It was a bit strange having the whole group of them listening to him so carefully, and he wondered if Bucky had been in that kind of situation a lot before he fell.

When they had eaten, games were brought out.  Few allowed all of them to play at once, so Bucky moved from game to game, alternating between playing with Steve and Natasha.  Thor had brought some from Asgard, and these were rather confusing, but Bucky was pretty sure he got the hang of it before the end.  Thor won most of these, of course.  They finished the evening playing poker, then had dessert, which was several varieties of pie.

As the evening wound down, people left their floor in ones and twos.  Finally, only Steve, Natasha, and Bucky remained.

“Well, James, what did you think of your first Christmas since 1945?” Natasha asked.

Bucky looked over at Steve with a smile.  “Did she ask you that a couple years ago?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t quite like this,” Steve answered, glancing at her.

“This was better, I hope,” she questioned.

“Yeah, Nat, you did a good job.  It was a great day for me.  What did you think, Buck?  Probably not the same as before the war,” he added, looking at his friend carefully.

Bucky took a deep breath, his gaze alternating between the two of them.  “I’ve never felt more welcome and at home in my life,” he said emphatically.

“That’s great, Buck,” Steve answered after clearing his throat in an unsuccessful attempt to keep the emotion from his voice.

“I’m glad to hear it, James,” Natasha said with a quiet smile, not her usual smirk.

He smiled hesitantly at them, then got to his feet.  “Well, I’m going to bed.  Merry Christmas, Steve.  С Рождеством, Natalia.”  They answered in kind, and he walked down to his bedroom.  The air inside felt chilly but somehow comforting after the busy day, surrounded by people and he smiled to himself.  He was glad to be here, in this place, no matter what circumstances had brought all of this to pass.


	16. How Did I Come to This, Where Every Song I Sing

In which Bucky explores pop culture.

The tower is usually quiet during the day.  Many of the Avengers have things to do outside, in the real world.  Except for Bucky.  He doesn’t trust himself to leave the safety of the tower yet, to go where he might hurt people.  More people.  He is getting better, is able to tell when things will set him off, will upset him, but he is not confident enough to gamble with people’s lives.  In the tower, there are protocols and precautions in place to keep the residents safe, even from each other.  Not everyone here could handle the Winter Soldier at his worst, but the system was set up to protect from even the Hulk, so he feels pretty good about that.  Not that there haven’t been incidents he’d prefer not to consider.

Steve and Natalia and Clint go on missions frequently.  Tony tinkers in his lab, or other labs of his in the area.  Bruce goes with him, probably.  Bucky doesn’t know Bruce well.  Sam often goes to DC for long periods of time.  He wishes he stayed more; he likes Sam.  Thor is friendly and is surprisingly relatable, for an alien, but his own people need him frequently.  Or the other realms, sometimes.  Often, then, Bucky is left to his own devices in an empty tower.  If Ms. Potts or Dr. Foster are around, they usually don’t let Bucky know.  He worries about their presence more than the others, about how relatively powerless they would be if they were around for one of his episodes.

He has a tablet, which connects to the internet, and on which he can purchase books or movies or music.  Steve set this up for him early on after he came here, but he hasn’t spent much time searching through for entertainment.  Mostly, he reads books that even he is vaguely aware of (classics, usually), and downloads the occasional movie.  Periodicals are also available, and he finds these the most helpful.  The text is usually dry and recounts events in a way that he finds easy to follow.  Stories are enjoyable, of course, but any set since he Fell are confusingly filled with references he can’t follow.  While he was kept up to date on many of the changes in the world over the last seventy years, pop culture evolution was certainly not one of them.

Every morning, he wakes up and wanders out of his room to see if anyone is home.  Sometimes Steve or Natasha is there to greet him (rarely anyone else), but more often they are not.  He makes breakfast for himself, high in protein, then works out in one of the training rooms several floors below.  Though he is aware that he was given some kind of super-soldier serum, he doesn’t think the effects would last if he did nothing.  Whether or not that is true, it is a good way to start the day and helps him sleep at night.

After training, he showers and gets dressed.  Since he doesn’t leave the tower, and doesn’t really know what people wear nowadays, he usually puts on sweatpants and a t-shirt.  He has dress shirts and khakis, similar to what people wore before the war, but he realizes (more quickly than Steve, if Nat’s jests are any indication), that only old men do that now.  What young men wear is something of a mystery, but jeans are certainly the norm.  He doesn’t pursue that kind of knowledge; he wore what he saw others wearing when he needed to infiltrate locations.  Now that his missions are over, he is unmotivated to do more than wear something warm and comfortable.  He doesn’t like the cold.  Or tight-fitting clothing.

For the rest of the morning, he does research.  Today, he uses the internet.  Slowly, he has worked through the decades and is now in the late seventies.  If he uses online resources, which is often, he always has several to tell him about the same event.  It eliminates bias and enables him to distill things down to just the facts.  Not that these are all that matter, of course.  Sometimes, more often than not, knowing the public reaction is more important than the facts.  Because of this thoroughness, it often takes a couple days to get through a year.  Which is fine; he’s in no hurry.

Some days he eats lunch, but sometimes he forgets.  In early afternoon, though, he has usually gone down enough rabbit trails to be exploring the important pop culture of the time.  Wherever possible, he finds snippets of songs or movies to go along with his research.  Steve still listens to and prefers music from the forties, when they were young.  Younger.  He hasn’t shown the same predilection for movies, but they didn’t go to see very many back then.  Bucky hasn’t felt particularly attached to music from before, but also doesn’t feel any connection to current music.  He doesn’t know if that’s something he used to enjoy strongly or not.

Though he has all the time he needs, it seems, he doesn’t usually watch whole movies.  He doesn’t know when people might start coming back to the tower at the end of the day, and he doesn’t want to be invested in a movie plot when they do.  Today, however, he read about an extremely influential movie involving battles in space, and decides to check it out.  After some searching, he finds the original (there are quite a few sequels and other editions to wade through).  Wriggling down to be lying comfortably on the couch, he adjusts the pillow behind his head and presses play, his tablet resting on his chest.

Barely over two hours later, he is smiling at the screen as it goes dark, triumphant music playing.  The story reminds him of something, of serials he vaguely remembers watching as a child.  He doesn’t recall the name.  More than that, though, he loves that the story was so classic.  Many novels follow the same arcs, especially the older ones.  Newer stories tend to be more complicated.  While he is able to keep track of multiple aspects of a mission, or, more recently, different sides of the same event, movies or books that tie a lot of disparate threads together have been proving a challenge for him to enjoy.  Perhaps it just feels too much like work.

In any case, the movie relied on archetypes that have been around for centuries, but with a science fiction twist.  Bucky isn’t sure how he feels about science fiction, but he likes this story.  After the movie, there is a suggestion to him to watch a documentary about the making of the movie.  Documentaries are something he particularly enjoys, so he cannot pass up that kind of opportunity. 

The film goes through the troubles that production faced, which are surprising.  He doesn’t think Old Hollywood wanted to risk shattering the illusion by explaining how things were done back then, so all of this is new to him.  The archetypes used in the story are also discussed, and referred to as common story-telling tropes.  Some are listed and he listens carefully.

When it is over, he looks up tropes.  If he had a way to codify information presented in narratives the way he can for missions, then he might enjoy the experience as much as everyone else.  Instead of struggling to understand the significance of much of the dialogue.  He finds a wonderful website that lists all the kinds of tropes that there are (in existence?), providing explanations as well as examples of each.  There are examples in music, and movies, and many sub categories with which he is only somewhat familiar.

Like much of his research, it results in him following rabbit trail after rabbit trail, for hours.  By the time he becomes aware of himself again, the room is dark.  The elevator is arriving at his floor, the noise startling him from his task.  He sits up slowly, a little sore from remaining in much the same position all afternoon.  It’s good he exercised his muscles this morning, or it would be worse.

“Hey, Buck, how’s it going?” Steve asks as he walks down the hall, passed Bucky, toward the kitchen.  His question is sincere, but he keeps the tone casual, so Bucky can choose how deeply to answer him.

“Pretty good.  Have you seen Star Wars?” he asks, almost tentatively as he gets up to follow Steve.

Flicking the light on, Steve goes straight to the fridge to stare into it for a moment, then turns to look at Bucky with a smile.  “I have.  Did you watch that today?”

He nods.

“You’re up to the seventies already?  Late seventies, I want to say.”

“Seventy-seven,” he clarifies.

“Wow.  Did you like it?” Steve asks, rummaging in the fridge again.

“Yes.”  He pauses, considering.  He wants to tell him about how easy it was to follow, but doesn’t want to admit that other things are difficult for him.  “It utilized many historical archetypes common in story-telling,” he says at last.

Steve laughs.  “That’s one way to put it, yeah.  It’s a good story, hits all the right points,” he agrees.  Bucky smiles hesitantly.  “Are you hungry?  Because I’m starving.”

Sometimes he forgets to eat, when he’s busy.  He isn’t sure if his stomach has recovered from frequently freezing to alert him to its emptiness as often as it should.  He doesn’t think he ate lunch today, but isn’t sure.  “I’m hungry,” he says, uncertainly.

“Good.  You know there are more of them, right?”

“More?” he asks, momentarily at a loss.

“Star Wars movies.  They were on my list of things to learn about.  I don’t remember who suggested them initially, but everyone’s always shocked I haven’t seen them all.  Well, shocked might be the wrong word.  Everyone has strong opinions about them.  I’ve only seen the first one.  You want to check out the second while we eat?”

“Sure.”

“Great,” Steve says with a grin in his direction, and he smiles back.


	17. Is Nothing But a List of Pain and Suffering?

In which Bucky meets Darcy.

The sun had just risen high enough to no longer shine directly in his window when Bucky got up and decided he should eat lunch today.  The morning had been uneventful, in a long line of uneventful mornings.  Steve came home every evening, though sometimes not until after dark.  Natasha came and went as she pleased, often leaving for a week or so without warning.  Not the Bucky needed a warning; he could handle himself alone.  The days of him being essentially babysat had ended a few weeks ago, and he was grateful.  It was pleasant to be trusted, and to be able to make his own choices for what to do without anyone being aware.

Not that those watching him had intruded.  Most left him to his own devices, and just stayed on the same floor as him, often watching television.  That, of course, limited his options for doing the same activity, though.  So if Sam and Natasha were gone for a while, he didn’t really mind.  He had a lot to catch up on.  Steve helped when he could, but Captain America was a busy guy.  Try as he might, he had not been able to convince Steve that he didn’t have to come home to check on him if he was busy.  Particularly if he was busy with Sharon.  If Steve got the hint, he didn’t respond to it, or accept leaving Bucky alone overnight as an option.  Bucky just shrugged, giving up for now.  The nightmares still ravaged his mind and it was good to have the ability to go talk to Steve about it when he couldn’t sleep.  But those were decreasing and he hoped not to need someone around while he slept for much longer.

Steve worried that Bucky didn’t eat enough.  He was vaguely aware that he had often had the same worry about Steve, when he was small.  So maybe Steve just didn’t know how their dynamic worked without one of them being concerned about the other’s eating habits.  Bucky had to admit Steve was probably right to be anxious; he had eaten very little in the time after he pulled Steve from the river and before he’d come to the Tower.  Now, he always had breakfast and dinner, and sometimes lunch.  Today, he should have lunch, he’d decided.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had done so.

Sandwiches were easy to make and possibly a favorite of his.  He couldn’t remember if that had been a preference before, but he enjoyed them now.  The amount of choices that were offered by that particular meal were somehow gratifying to consider; he knew choice hadn’t been a part of his life for a long time.  And being able to exercise his will on something as simple and harmless as lunch was beneficial, at least according to Sam.  He didn’t know about all that, but he did like it.

He had just pulled out all the ingredients when a strange sound reached his ears.  Automatically, he froze and listened intently.  It sounded like an alarm, but far away.  Likely in his building, on a floor somewhere above him.  Most of the tower fit that description, so he frowned in consideration.  The ding of the elevator brought his attention to focus down the hallway, and he narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” a soft, female voice whispered anxiously.

“Relax, I’m sure it’s fine,” another female voice responded, confident.

“Excuse me?  Is anyone there?” the first voice called out pleasantly after a pause.

Bucky frowned deeply, unprepared for this eventuality.  “Yes,” he answered hesitantly.

The scuffle of footsteps headed in his direction; just two, as far as he could tell.  When two petite brunette women appeared around the corner from the kitchen, he was not surprised by their appearance.  Merely perplexed.

“Hey, there, sergeant,” one of them, the second speaker, said in a very friendly manner, smiling broadly at him.  He glanced between her and her companion, not returning the expression.

“Hi, I’m Jane Foster.  Thor’s, um, girlfriend, and this is Darcy Lewis.  It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the first speaker said nervously.

“James Barnes,” he replied, the name sounding strange on his tongue.

“Not Bucky?” the more confident one, Darcy, asked.  Jane elbowed her sharply and smiled at him sweetly.

“Sometimes,” he replied amiably.

“I hate to bother you,” Jane continued, looking truly apologetic.

“He doesn’t look busy,” Darcy interjected, earning a glare from her friend.  “What?  It’s kind of an emergency.”

His attention, which had been wavering, returned sharply at that.  “What’s the emergency?” he asked.

Jane sighed, then looked self-effacing.  “We were doing some experiments down in my lab, and some of the equipment malfunctioned.  JARVIS said you were the only other person in the building, so we thought maybe you could help,” she added.

“I don’t know what help I could be with equipment,” he began.

“It’s just heavy,” Darcy put in.  “And you look like you could definitely help in that department.  You can probably bench like, what, three hundred pounds?”

“Darcy,” Jane hissed.

His gaze flickered between the two of them.  “I’m sure I can help move something,” he offered, wondering if he shouldn’t get involved.

“Oh, good, because my intern is kind of trapped,” Darcy said with a grin.

“Trapped?” Bucky echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s fine,” Jane hastened to clarify.  “He’s just kind of stuck in the corner of the room.  He’s not being crushed or anything, just inconvenienced.”

“Plus, he’s not getting paid, so he keeps complaining that he didn’t volunteer for this,” Darcy explained.  “It’s getting annoying.”

Bucky shook his head slowly.  “Alright, let’s go get him out.  I don’t, uh, I don’t know where your lab is,” he added.

Jane smiled at him.  “I’d love to give you the tour,” she said earnestly.

“Maybe after we rescue my intern,” Darcy suggested.  “Then you can talk his ear off with science stuff all you want.”  Jane shrugged and led the way back to the elevator.  Bucky followed her and was somewhat concerned when Darcy fell into step beside him.  “It’s good she hasn’t gone off on one of her tangents while my intern is stuck.  He’d probably resort of biting off his own leg or whatever it is animals do when they’re desperate to escape.”

“Is it that bad?” he asked.

She shrugged.  “I don’t think she notices if anyone’s listening or not.  So it can be.”

He nodded, despite not really being sure what she meant, and got on the elevator with the two of them.  Being in such close quarters with civilians was not something he was really cleared to do at this point, so he focused on breathing slowly and staying calm until they reached the floor, several above his own, and exited.

“It’s pretty much everything on the right,” Jane explained, motioning to the windows.  He looked in as they walked by, not entirely certain what most of the equipment was.  It looked more high-tech than most anything he’d seen before, and he felt a little impressed.

Toward the end of the hall, there was a door to the right that led to what was apparently a storage closet.  It was very full, but something had happened to cause the various metal apparatuses to knock each other down with domino effects, making a clear barrier.  On the other side of it, he could dimly make out a man standing.

“Thanks for abandoning me here, Darcy,” he said with some bitterness.

Darcy rolled her eyes, winking at Bucky.  “I didn’t have to go get help,” she told her intern.

The intern looked at Bucky, and his eyebrows rose.  Bucky considered what he must look like, with his metal arm jutting out of a t-shirt with Steve’s shield emblazoned on it, his hair long and messy, his face with a couple of days of beard grown, wearing sweatpants and barefoot.  He cleared his throat, and forced himself to focus on the unstable pile of scientific equipment that kept the intern trapped in the corner.  The women stood back when they noticed his expression, though he was dimly aware of Darcy continuing to exchange quips with her intern.  After a few moments, he determined the order in which to move everything, and set to work.  The heavier objects caused some strain in his shoulder where his metal arm attached, but most things he could move just fine with his human hand.

When he’d finished, he took a step back to allow the man to leave the storage room without coming to close to him.  The intern gave both women a glare, and stalked off down the hallway.  “You’re welcome!” Darcy called after him.

“Thank you, James,” Jane said sincerely, smiling at him.

“Yeah, good job, Bucky,” Darcy agreed with a grin.

He smiled tentatively, then headed back to the elevator. 


	18. One Foot in Front of the Other Foot

In which Steve learns Russian.

It was late when Bucky woke up; late in the morning.  His room was bathed in light, which was a pleasant change from the cold darkness he remembered staring into for much of the night.  The nightmares – the memories – had kept him up.  His throat still felt raw from screaming.  He shuffled out of his room, not caring about his likely unkempt appearance, and wandered down to the kitchen.  When he reached it, he was somewhat surprised to find Steve there, sitting at the table, wearing headphones, and staring intently at his laptop.  The look of concentration on his face made Bucky feel a little guilty for interrupting.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said gently, eyes flickering back to the tablet to press something on it, then setting it down. The screen was now dark.

“Hey yourself,” he replied tonelessly, and headed for the pantry.

“There are some extra eggs in the fridge if you want them,” Steve continued, and Bucky could feel his eyes following him around the kitchen as he assembled something filling.  He wasn’t hungry, but knew he should eat.  “You know you can come bother me if you’re having trouble sleeping,” Steve said abruptly as Bucky sat down.

He set his fork back down on the plate and gave Steve a look.

Steve smiled.  “I know, I know.  But I won’t tell anyone.”

With a heavy sigh, he started eating, ignoring Steve.  After a few minutes, Steve picked up his tablet again, but kept one ear free.  When most of his breakfast was gone, Bucky glanced at his friend hesitantly.  “Did I wake you?” he asked.

Stopping the video, or whatever it was, immediately, Steve looked at him gravely.  “Yes.  You were screaming.  And shouting things in Russian.”

“What was I saying?” he wondered aloud.

Steve shrugged, glancing away.  “I don’t know.  Sometimes they sounded like orders.  Other times…”  He trailed off, biting his lip.

“More like pleas?” Bucky finished for him. 

Steve met his eye briefly, then looked away again.  “I don’t know, Buck.  It’s just usually in Russian.”

“Hmm.”

 

A few days later, Natasha returned from where it was that she went.  Bucky didn’t ask; no one did.  When she came out of the elevator, Bucky was the only one on that floor, and was lying on the couch in the living room, reading.  The elevator dinged, as usual, but there wasn’t another sound.  He suspected it was likely her, since she could move so silently.  Still, he tensed, and stared down the hallway while he waited.  When she came into view, she smiled at him.

“I thought I was being quiet,” she said with a little smirk.

“The elevator gave you away.  I couldn’t hear you,” he assured her, returning her expression.

She was wearing casual clothes, civvies, jeans and a t-shirt with a tight-fitting jacket.  Languidly, she slid into the arm chair nearby the couch, crossing her legs and propping her head on her arm, looking at him.

“How’s it going?” she asked, switching to Russian.

They did not often speak to each other in anything other than English, even if there was no one around to feel left out about it.  He had noticed that she usually spoke in her native tongue, at least to him, when she was being more serious.  Discussions about what happened to him, or her, were rarely conducted in English.  He knew she expected an honest answer, perhaps more honest than he would have answered even Steve, from the switch.

He let out a breath, and rested back against the cushions, no longer facing her.  “The nightmares are getting worse.  I don’t get much sleep before dawn.”  The admission was somehow easier in a foreign tongue, so perhaps that’s why she encouraged it from him.

The chair creaked slightly as she shifted her weight, changing position.  He fought against the instinct to keep any movement in his line of sight, and stayed where he was.  “It gets worse before it gets better,” she said quietly.  “But it will get better,” she added emphatically.

He felt a small smile tug at his lips.  “Will it?”

“Yes.”

 

Perhaps speaking in Russian was more freeing.  It didn’t make a lot of sense, since he had certainly had much more autonomy when English was his primary form of communication than afterwards.  But maybe that was it; maybe saying whatever the hell he wanted in Russian was to make up for all the years his voice had been stolen.  In any case, their conversation turned to lighter topics after a while, but remained in Natasha’s native language.  He didn’t know if anyone else spoke it to her anymore, but he liked the connection it gave him to her.  Even without all the other things they seemed to have in common.

“Glad to see you’re having fun,” Steve’s voice cut in.

Bucky glanced up, somewhat startled to find him standing in the hallway outside the living room.  His clothes indicated he was just returning from a run and he smiled slightly at them.  Natasha had been joking about something, and Bucky was delighted to find himself sufficiently fluent in the language to understand jokes.   Though perhaps not ready to make any himself.  Neither were exactly skills that had been encouraged by HYDRA.

“He’s just jealous because he can’t understand us,” Natasha told Bucky in Russian, and he could hear the grin in her voice.

“Maybe he’s lucky,” Bucky suggested, looking at the puzzled expression on his friend’s face.

“You mean so he doesn’t understand what you scream at night?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at them, but he didn’t interrupt.

Both men looked at her when Natasha got to her feet, smiling down at Bucky.  “Your room’s right above mine, Barnes.  Maybe it would be nice if I wasn’t the only one hearing what you’re going through,” she said, now in English.

Steve glanced sharply between them as she left.  “What was that about?”

“We were talking about how you don’t speak Russian,” Bucky replied somewhat evasively.

“What do you guys know?” Steve answered.

Bucky was momentarily confused by the comment, until he realized it was in Russian.  He sat up abruptly, and Steve grinned at his expression.  “Have you been holding out on us?” he demanded.

Steve laughed, seeming hardly able to control his delight.  “I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said proudly.  “I’ve been working on it for a few months.”

“A few months?  Before I came here?” Bucky pressed.

Nodding, Steve looked away.  “I wasn’t sure, when we found you… what you might respond to.  I wanted to be prepared.”

“Well, you are that.  Have you been listening in on all of our conversations?” he asked sharply.

“Of course not.  I wouldn’t do that,” Steve answered, with the quiet disappointed tone he always used when he was offended.

Bucky sighed.  “Good.  Sam’s going to be so jealous the three of us can talk to each other without him understanding,” he said with a grin.

Steve laughed.  “I hadn’t thought of that…”

“It’s too late.  Let’s go find him and tell him.”


	19. How Do We Bear This Burden, Far Too Much to Carry?

In which Sam and Bucky take Commander to the dog park

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay, Buck?” Steve asked, not for the first time in the last half hour.

Bucky sighed heavily.  “Yes, Steve, I’ll be okay,” he answered, exasperated.

A self-effacing smile quirked on Steve’s face for a moment, before returning to his serious expression.  “Because I can stay if you need me to.”

“Damn it all to hell, Steve, I will hit you if you don’t shut up,” Bucky replied, folding his arms across his chest and glaring.

Steve laughed.  “Fine, I’ll go.  I told Sam we’re going to be gone and he should stop by.”

“Great.”

“I’m sorry you can’t come with us.”

“I’m not.”

“Stop being a jerk, Buck, and say goodbye,” Steve told him, frowning.

Relenting, Bucky unfolded his arms and let himself be hugged.  “You’re a punk,” he replied affably as he patted Steve once on the back.

“I know.  Don’t forget to eat,” Steve called back as he headed down the hallway, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder.

“Shut up,” Bucky answered and sank down on the couch.  The floor seemed strangely quiet with the knowledge that the Avengers were gone and would be for a few days.  Sam wasn’t going with them, but he wasn’t in town, either.  He tried to remember the last time he’d been left completely alone and was unsuccessful.  He settled in to see what this would be like.

 

The next day, he found he had been enjoying solitude quite a bit.  Not that he never got any time to himself, but having long stretches of it was an interesting, and not unpleasant, change.  He set a reminder to eat every few hours, so he wouldn’t get too engrossed in his research to take regular breaks.  Exercising in the training rooms knowing that no one else might wander in was also oddly freeing.  People rarely came by when he was training, and generally only Sam or Steve or Natasha, so perhaps the others kept track of when he was there.  It wouldn’t be surprising if some of the other residents tried not to run into him.

His alarm was just going off for lunch when he heard the elevator.   Frowning, he got to his feet and stalked toward it slowly.  If they were back already, that probably meant something bad had happened.  He forced the intense worry that filled him at the thought into the back of his mind and prepared himself for whatever might come out of the door.

The doors slid open and Sam stood there, holding a leash, with a dog at the other end.  A familiar dog, Bucky decided when the animal showed signs of being happy to see him.

“Hey, man, how’s it going?” Sam asked with a smile.

Bucky smiled back and patted the dog’s head.  “Pretty good.  I was just about to have lunch if you want to join me.”

“How about something to go?  Commander and I were about to go to the park, and we thought we’d see if you wanted to come,” Sam explained.

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at his phrasing.  “Um, sure, give me a minute to get changed.”

“Sure thing, man,” Sam replied and took the dog to the living room, where they both sat down to wait.

“Okay,” Bucky said slowly, unsure how he felt about his solitude being thus interrupted.   He fixed himself a sandwich quickly and changed out of his sweats and into jeans and t-shirt.  Finding his gloves was something of a challenge, since he hadn’t gone out for a while.  In the end, he could only find one, but it was the left one, so that was fine.  Potentially a faux pas fashion-wise, but he didn’t much care about that.  Most of his t-shirts were long-sleeved, so his cybernetic arm was well-hidden when he left his bedroom.

“Ready?” Sam asked, glancing up from the paper he was reading when Bucky returned to the kitchen.

“Sure,” he answered, putting three water bottles into the bag with his sandwich.  “Where are we going?”

“There’s a dog park a few blocks away.  I’ll drive.  You’ll have to kick Commander into the backseat, though.”  Sam paused, looking at Bucky sharply.  “That’s just an expression.  Don’t kick things.”

Bucky laughed.  “I wasn’t going to kick him.  I don’t have any idea why you’d think that.”

“I seem to recall you kicking me off of things,” Sam replied good-naturedly.

“I’m pretty sure you kicked me in the head before that, when I was in the middle of an existential crisis.  Which I feel like is worse, and maybe I still owe you for that,” Bucky added as they rode the elevator.

Sam laughed.  “Fine, I’m willing to call it even, if you are.”

Bucky sighed dramatically.  “Alright, I guess I can do that.”

“That’s good to hear, man.  Have you been to a dog park before?” Sam asked as they walked over to his car, Commander obediently staying at Sam’s side.

“I’ve never even heard of one.  But I imagine it’s a park for dogs.”

“Good guess.”

“Thanks, it took a lot of effort,” Bucky muttered.

Sam grinned, but neither spoke again until they reached their destination.  They pulled into a gravel parking lot, in front of a green field.  There were some trees dotting the open space, as well as roped off areas where dogs were running laps.  All of it was enclosed by a chain-link fence.  There were approximately five other groups of people there, with seven dogs of varying size.

“You ready?” Sam asked.  Bucky wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or to the dog.

“Let’s go,” he said neutrally, as he climbed out of the car and let the dog climb out behind him.  He patted Commander’s head as he ran his other hand along to find the end of his leash.  Grasping it in his left hand, he led the dog toward the gate, Sam following them.  As soon as they passed through, two dogs came running over and then all three were circling and sniffing at each other.  Bucky looked up at Sam with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s good to make friends,” Sam responded to the unspoken question.  “Let him off the leash, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Bucky bent and unclipped the animal, and watched as he ran off with the others.  After a moment, he turned back to Sam, who was watching him.  “So, we just let him run around for a while?”

“Pretty much.  We can go talk to the other humans, if you want.”

“Not particularly.”

“That’s fine.  Commander will come back in a while and we can play fetch with him.  If he doesn’t wear himself out too much first,” he added.

Bucky looked around, and walked over to a picnic table beneath one of the sets of trees.  He dropped onto the bench, facing away from the table, and pulled out his sandwich.  He passed Sam one of the water bottles, setting the other two on the table, and began to eat.  Unexpectedly, he was quite hungry.  When the meal was about halfway gone, he paused and glanced over at Sam, who was leaning against one of the trees, arms folded over his chest.

“You want some?” he asked politely.

“No, go for it.  I ate before I picked you up,” Sam replied.

After a while, the sandwich was gone as well as most of his water.  Commander came running up, panting happily, and went to see Sam then Bucky.  Scratching his ears, Bucky looked around for inspiration, then shrugged.  He picked up the unopened water bottle and unscrewed the cap.  Taking a swig, he carefully used his left hand and a knife (something he might never get out of the habit of having on his person at all times) to remove the top of the bottle.  He held out the rest to the dog, who happily lapped up his fill.  Bucky smiled to himself, then looked up to survey the rest of the park.  Some people were starting to stare and he shifted uncomfortably.

“Don’t worry, man, they’re probably just confused about what our relationship is,” Sam assured him, but got to his feet and put the leash back on Commander.  “You had enough sun for one day?”

“I think so.”

“Great.  Let’s take this guy back home, then we can go get dinner, if you’d like.”

“Sure.”


	20. How Do We Change Our prison to a Sanctuary?

In which Bucky makes everyone dinner after a mission.

“That wasn’t any more ridiculous than that time with Loki,” Natasha was saying as she stepped out of the elevator.  Bucky turned from where he had been looking out the window in the living room to face the commotion of several people exiting the elevator.

“Yeah, fine, maybe those of us who could fly should have,” Clint answered sourly.

“There are no outside doors on this floor,” Thor’s voice boomed, sounding somewhat offended at the suggestion.

“You guys didn’t have to all follow me home,” Steve grumbled, sounding tired.

Bucky was somewhat surprised when all six of the original Avengers, plus Sam, appeared in the hallway.  They looked exhausted and dusty, and many of them had rips and tears in their mission gear.

“How’d it go?” he asked in a bemused tone, eyes flickering from Steve to Natasha, who were both looking at him.

“A guy with a metal arm might have been helpful,” Tony muttered, pulling off his gloves and dropping them unceremoniously on the floor.

Bucky smiled slightly at the suggestion. 

“What happened to ‘we have a Hulk?’” Clint wanted to know.  “Sorry, Bruce, looks like Tony’s moved on.”

“Tony?” Bruce asked, a mock-horrified look on his face.  His clothes were in tatters and Bucky couldn’t help the quick feeling of relief not to have been around when the Other Guy came out.

“Shut up, you guys, I’m tired,” Tony said, dropping onto the couch with a sigh.  “Well, Summer Sergeant, if you’re not going to help us fight, are you going to make us dinner?”  Sam, Steve, and Natasha all looked at each other, and at Bucky, sharply.  Tony did not miss this exchange.  “Are you worried your boy can’t cook?  Because he’s been getting along pretty well without you for a while, Steve.”

Steve looked annoyed, but was continuing to look at Bucky.  “He has been doing well,” he answered quietly.

“I’m sure he doesn’t have to,” Bruce cut in.

“Do we even have any food?” Clint said at the same time.

Tony looked at them and then at Thor, who hadn’t contributed his opinion.  “What, don’t you guys usually have a feast waiting for you when you return from victorious battle?”  Tony asked him.

Thor glanced at Bucky, then at Steve.  “Frequently.  But Midgard provides plenty of opportunities for prepared food to be brought to us.  We need not impose on Sgt. Barnes, or anyone else,” he said.

Tony sighed heavily.  “Fine, maybe someone else can pick up the tab this time.”

“Stop being so cranky or I’ll go fetch Pepper,” Natasha said, in a tone that implied she’d do much more than that.

Tony opened an eye to look at her.  “Forget I said it.  Anyway, Barnes, it was a rough battle, but we survived and we all followed Steve home because all the other sympathetic ears are out of the Tower right now.”

Bucky looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and didn’t answer.

“What is he talking about?” Clint asked Natasha in a stage whisper.

She smiled.  “He means Pepper isn’t here for him to go whine to.  Though I think she took Jane and Darcy with her.  So it’s just us.  And we don’t pay enough attention to the poor guy,” she added.

“You don’t,” Tony agreed vehemently.

Bucky cleared his throat and everyone turned to look at him.  “I can make dinner,” he said calmly.  “Shut up,” he added when Steve stepped forward, about to protest.  “I’m not a child.  I don’t need to be treated like it all the damn time.  I can certainly fix something for seven people.  Assuming that we have any food,” he added as he walked by Clint, who laughed.  “What does everyone want?”

“Something with a lot of cheese,” Tony called as Bucky got to the kitchen.

“Anything’s fine,” Steve said, sounding a little surprised.

“Chocolate,” Natasha said firmly.

“You can’t have chocolate for dinner, Nat,” Clint admonished.

“Nothing spicy,” Bruce put in.

“Let me know if you need someone to lend a hand,” Sam offered.

Bucky opened the fridge and surveyed the options.  This might be a little harder than he thought.

 

The Avengers settle around Steve’s living room.  Though each floor contains ample living quarters for everyone, some unspoken decision brings them to Steve’s floor whenever they want to hang out.  Perhaps because Steve has so rarely wanted to leave it since Bucky returned.  In any case, they all make themselves comfortable and wait.  Well, not all are comfortable; Steve frequently turns to look toward the kitchen with an anxious expression.  Sam catches him at it and pats his shoulder, then shakes his head.  The look remains on his face, but he stops checking.

“Come and get it,” Bucky finally calls.

Clint is the first on his feet, and the rest follow more slowly.  It quickly becomes apparent why it took so long.  There is meatloaf, lasagna (with extra cheese), something Russian that Natasha seems particularly excited about, biscuits, bacon, pop-tarts (for Thor), and some cold sandwich ingredients laid out.  Bucky stands next to it, looking tired, covered with bits of flour, but smiling.

“Wow, Barnes, that’s impressive,” Tony says sincerely.

The rest are quick to agree with him.  Natasha tells him her sentiments in Russian, and everyone sort of pauses to look between them when he answers in the same language.

“Alright, then, let’s eat,” Sam suggests.

Noises of agreement come from everyone, and they fall into line to select what they want.  The kitchen is surprisingly quiet, save for the sound of dishware and cutlery, as hungry superheroes choose their favorites.  Steve waits until the rest have gathered food and returned to their spots in the living room, watching his friend.

“Good job, Buck,” he says.

“Thanks,” Bucky replies, moving to serve himself.

“I’m sorry for treating you like a child.”

Bucky stops, and turns to face him.  “It’s fine.  It’s not like you don’t have a good reason.  It just gets old having people check up on me, ask me gently how I’m doing, all of the time.  You don’t do that to each other, and I’m far from the only… damaged person here,” he explains quietly.

Steve takes a deep breath.  “I know.  You’ve come a long way in the past few months.  We’re very impressed.  But that doesn’t change the fact that we all feel for you and want you to know you’re welcome here, not as an asset, but as a friend.”

“I know, Steve.  I know.  Let’s eat,” Bucky replies gently, leading his friend back to the living room.


	21. We’ve Been Kept From the Light, No One Ever Gave a Damn

In which Steve gets hurt and Bucky takes care of him.

For the first month or so after Bucky arrived at the Tower, Steve never left.  He didn’t keep an eye on Bucky at all times, of course, but wanted to make sure he was always around when his friend needed him.  After that, he made sure someone was around when he couldn’t be (Captain America being holed up in the Tower for an extended period of time was not good press).  So he went on missions and made positive public appearances, so that the world would see what good their heroes were still doing.  And that the fall of SHIELD didn’t mean the end of the Avengers.

At first, when Steve was gone, Bucky didn’t like it.  He felt unsettled and shiftless.  But he got used to it, and found his own projects and things to do so he didn’t feel quite so useless.  The thought of the Winter Soldier joining Steve on any of his missions didn’t seem to enter anyone’s head, and Bucky didn’t feel ready to put it there.  He didn’t trust himself out in the world, and contented himself with piecing together memories and a more detailed understanding of the modern world.

That didn’t mean he was free from worry when Steve was gone, especially if it was on a more dangerous assignment.  There were plenty of HYDRA cells remaining that needed to be killed or captured.  They were like a cornered, wounded animal, and any Avenger returning from one of those missions was going to at least be a bit scraped up.  Bucky waited uselessly in the safety of the tower when Steve left on these, and berated himself about whether or not he was up to the challenge of going and getting some revenge.

Not all of the Avengers went on every mission together, not even against HYDRA.  Sam and Steve went, and usually took some backup.  Bucky supposed then he didn’t feel like he was left behind with the women (Jane, Pepper), which might have hurt his pride.  On the rare occasion he felt any.  The emotions that passed through him when he was waiting for his friend to return were complex and difficult for him to process at this stage.  He just knew it was unpleasant and needed to distract himself.

 

One such evening, he was pacing the living room while reading his tablet.  He couldn’t keep still, but was managing to keep his mind mostly occupied.  Sam had told him earlier that day that he was recovering very well, and might be able to go out from time to time.  Though Bucky liked being in the Tower, and it provided virtually anything he could ask for, it would be nice to get out and see at least what New York looked like these days.

The sound of the elevator brought his attention to the present, and he thought with relief that at least Steve was finally back.  He hadn’t quite decided if he was going to insist on going on the next mission, but was starting to work out how he would bring up the idea.  Somehow, he didn’t think Steve would take it well.

“James?” Natasha’s voice called down, with no sound of her moving closer after the elevator opened.

“What is it?” he asked, cold tendrils of worry slithering through his mind at her tone.  He dropped his tablet on the couch and hurried in her direction.

She gave him a reassuring smile when he came into view.  “Steve’s downstairs.  He told me I should come and fetch you,” she said gently.

In four great steps, he was in the elevator with her.  “Let’s go,” he said through clenched teeth, surprised at how angry he felt.  “He did something stupid, didn’t he?”

A little smirk appeared on her face as she looked at him knowingly.  “Well, you know how he gets sometimes.”

“The big reckless jerk,” he grumbled.

She patted his arm.  “He would probably argue with that assessment, but you’re not wrong.”

Bucky glanced at her sharply, focusing on the dusty and tattered state of her mission gear, with the occasional streak of dried blood on her skin.  “Did anyone else get hurt?  Are you okay?”

“We’re fine,” she said with a shrug.  He must have looked doubtful, because she looked down at herself and smiled.  “Most of it’s not mine,” she assured him with a grin.

“Oh.  Good.  Was the mission successful?” he wanted to know, the words putting a metallic taste in his mouth as he recalled hearing the same question many times in a different context.

“Yes,” she told him seriously.

“Good,” he answered darkly as the elevator reached the floor where there was an infirmary.  He’d been here himself quite a bit, in the early days.  He hadn’t been taking good care of himself while on the run.

Natasha followed him as he strode out of the elevator and soon found Steve.  He was laying on a gurney, with Dr. Banner standing over him.  Bucky stopped himself in the doorway and peered in at his friend, frowning deeply.

“Bruce, can we see the patient?” Natasha asked softly from behind him.

Bruce glanced up sharply, then gave them both a small smile.  “Yeah, he’s sedated right now so I could take care of his arm, but he’ll come to pretty soon.  It’s hard to keep a super-soldier down,” he added.

With a nod to the other man, Bucky moved into the room and pulled a nearby chair up to the edge of Steve’s bed.  There were a few cuts on his face, and a large bandage on his forearm.  It was newly applied, but was already showing a hint of red as he continued bleeding into it.  The rest of him was covered by blankets and his uniform, so it was impossible to tell how else he might have been injured.

“What happened?” he asked very quietly.

“A HYDRA goon shot him from a good distance away, but the bullet got lodged in his arm.  Were you able to successfully extract it?” Natasha asked Bruce, who nodded wordlessly, having retreated to the corner of the room.

“What happened to the guy?” Bucky wanted to know, voice still dangerously low.

“Don’t worry, James, I took him down.  We can’t let just anyone shoot Captain America and get away with it,” she added, teasing gently.  He didn’t answer her, and was soon vaguely aware of her and Bruce leaving the room.

He thought back to times during the war, half-remembered, when he had helped dress the wounds of his men.  And of Steve.  Steve healed shockingly fast, he reminded himself, and refused to consider how it had been when Steve was wounded before the war.  Usually in fights the dumb jerk got himself into by defending equally helpless people from bullies.

“Hey, Buck, don’t worry, I saw Nat kill the guy.  You don’t need to be so angry,” Steve mumbled, his eyes opening briefly to look at Bucky.

“What makes you think I’m angry at that guy?” Bucky asked acidly.

Steve laughed briefly, though the movement must have caused him some pain, because he winced and stopped.  “Well, if you’re angry at me, I should tell you that I’m injured and can’t handle that kind of negativity right now.”

Bucky snorted.  “Maybe it’ll teach you not to make such dumb decisions next time.”

“You don’t even know what caused this.  Maybe the guy was just a great shot.”

“Steve.  It’s your left arm.  You know, the one that usually holds an indestructible shield.  You want to tell me why it wasn’t there?” he asked slowly, deliberately.

Steve had the decency to look chagrined.  “I had it with me.  I just had thrown it and taken out some guys, and then was fighting hand-to-hand, and…  I didn’t pick it back up right away,” he added, eyes closed.

“Because you wanted to beat some guy to a pulp with your bare hands.  Did he dare you to do that, Steve?  Like Natasha said that mercenary did on the Lumerian Star?”

“I don’t, uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m glad she’s noticed how terrible a liar you are.  I can’t believe you, Steve.”

Steve sighed heavily.  “So, are you going to give me a lecture or what?”

Bucky sat back and glared down at him for a few moments.  “No.  I’m going to go with you next time.”

“Bucky – ” Steve begin, sitting up.

Pushing him gently back down, Bucky got to his feet.  “It wasn’t a request.  Go to sleep.  I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Steve frowned at him, but was obedient to Bucky and whatever Bruce had given him, and was soon unconscious again.


	22. If I’ve No One to Fight, How Do I Know Who I Am?

In which Bucky meets the Hulk.

There was a reason that Bucky and Bruce were kept apart.  They met from time to time, when all of the Avengers were gathered, but had exchanged little more than a few pleasantries even after Bucky had been there for a few months.  The others he had gotten to know rather well in that time, but Bruce remained distant.  Not that he wasn’t friendly enough when they met, but they had not gotten to know each other by any stretch.  Bucky wasn’t sure how he felt about that.  From what Steve said, Bruce was a brilliant scientist while still being down to earth and pleasant (as opposed to, say, Tony).  Bucky didn’t seek anyone out, and supposed Bruce must be the same.

Bruce did not go on missions.  At least, not as far as Bucky could tell.  Most of the missions were relatively covert, though, so perhaps a giant green rage monster, to borrow the phrase, was less than helpful in most situations.  Bruce did not stay in the tower all of the time, either, and went to other labs of his.  Bucky did not ask about him, and was only able to glean information from the off-hand comments Steve and Natasha made.  Perhaps because Sam hadn’t been around for New York, he didn’t have any information on Bruce beyond what Bucky already knew.

Bucky was pacing the living room, considering his mysterious house-mate.  He didn’t like being ignorant of a major aspect of his living situation.  Steve trusted him, which was great, except Steve always wanted to trust everyone.  And his disappointment was formidable, which made most people try to live up to his expectations.  Still, that didn’t mean they should take some precautions.  All Bucky had been informed was that, if Bruce got mad, he might turn into the Other Guy.  He could also do it intentionally, and retain some control, but unintentional transformations were not controllable and extremely dangerous.

The others had been on a mission for a few days, somewhere in Europe.  Bucky knew he and Bruce were the only ones in the tower, at least regularly.  Pepper or Jane might stop by, but didn’t usually when their men weren’t home.  Steve hadn’t said anything about being careful or making sure he kept clear of Banner while he was gone, so Bucky was wondering if he should take this opportunity to go get to know the man behind the monster.  And hopefully not the monster himself.

With a grimace, he stopped pacing and ran his fingers through his hair.  If he wanted to go, he should go.  He had the choice.  Bruce could always ask him to leave if he didn’t want a former Soviet assassin underfoot.  Bruce seemed to get along well with Natasha, at any rate.  With everyone, in fact.  They didn’t seem to be stepping lightly when he was around, though they sometimes exhibited the same slightly gentle way of speaking to him that they spoke to Bucky.  So maybe they could bond over their frustration with that predilection.

Resolute, he pulled on a glove over his left hand and headed for the elevator.  He was wearing shoes and long sleeves, as if he was going outside.  That wasn’t his intention, but he had noticed that Bruce usually wore nicer clothes, and he wanted to keep his options open.  Bruce’s lab was a few floors below Steve’s, and he rocked back and forth on his heels while the elevator descended.  When it opened, he stepped forward cautiously.

The hallway before him was long and white, with large glass panels on either side to show what was contained in the lab.  The equipment inside was clean and orderly, quite different from Tony’s lab.  Though Bucky rarely went there.  Labs weren’t exactly somewhere he enjoyed visiting, and he began to wonder if this was a bad idea.  He could feel himself getting tense and worried at the sight of the gleaming metal instruments.

“Bucky?” a soft voice came from his left.

He turned abruptly, but kept himself from otherwise showing his surprise.  “Hello, Bruce,” he said with forced cheerfulness.

Bruce was wiping his hands on a towel, peering at him over his glasses.  “What brings you down here?  I wouldn’t think this would be your… cup of tea,” he added with a small smile.

Bucky was struck by how calm the other man seemed.  He wondered what kind of vibe he gave off when people met him.  He shrugged.  “They’ve been gone a while,” he answered, without really answering.

A knowing smile spread across Bruce’s face, so perhaps he understood the implication.  “Yeah, they aren’t usually gone this long.  Getting bored?”

The unspoken question of if he was getting lonely hung in the air between them awkwardly before Bucky nodded.  “A little,” he admitted.

“I was just finishing up an experiment.  I don’t suppose that kind of thing would interest you?”

He shook his head mutely, glancing around.

“That’s fine.  How about we take a walk?” Bruce suggested.

Outside?, Bucky wanted to clarify, but thought better of it.  “Sure.”

“Great, I’ll get my coat.”  Bucky waited silently as the doctor grabbed a suit jacket with patches on the elbows, and joined him at the door.  He led the way to the elevator, and they were silent as they rode down.

Bucky cleared his throat to break the silence.  “They said you were working on a super soldier serum?” he asked quietly.

Bruce had been humming to himself, but now looked at Bucky sharply.  “Yes, I was trying to replicate Dr. Erskine’s work.  It was all lost, you know.”

“Not all of it,” Bucky replied darkly, and Bruce raised an eyebrow.  “Johann Schmidt managed to keep some of his notes.  As well as having the initial serum running through his veins.”

Bruce looked at him very seriously.  “Is that what they used on you?”

“I think so.  I remember some transfusions, I think.  But it may not have been real,” he added, tapping the side of his head with a gloved finger.  “Not everything in here is reliable.”

Bruce smiled at him understandingly.  “I’m sure what you need to know will come to you.  But it might be okay not to remember everything,” he asserted, his tone indicated that there were things he’d rather have forgotten.

With a nod, Bucky took a step forward as the elevator doors opened.  He had not often been on the ground floor of the tower, and could not help but to look around with some awe.  It was a beautiful building, at least on the inside.  Bruce followed him out, and they walked along the wall of the large open space, and down a corridor.  Leaving out the small doors at the back would be less noticeable, less obvious that they had come from the Tower.  These were glass and they had soon slipped outside.  It was delightful to feel the sun on his skin, what little there was of it that he had exposed.

“I haven’t been outside in a long time,” Bucky said conversationally.

Bruce looked up at him, as though surprised to hear him speak again.  “It is a great day for it,” he agreed tentatively.

Small talk wasn’t something Bucky had really gotten the hang of at that point, but he tried his best and the two of them managed to talk about nothing particularly consequential was they walked about four blocks from the tower.  Bucky was starting to feel rather good about the whole adventure when shouting broke into their conversation.  Exchanging a brief glance, they both hurried to the source of the sound.

There was a crowd of people, and Bucky pushed a path through, Bruce following quickly enough to make it through before the crowd regrouped.  A man was lying on the ground, bleeding, a bullet wound in his shoulder.  It had missed all vital organs, but he could certainly bleed out pretty quickly if he went unattended.

“Stand back,” Bruce ordered, the authoritative tone something of a surprise to Bucky.  His military training resurfaced and he repeated Bruce’s order in a sharp tone when people tried to get closer to see.  Bruce kneeled beside the man and pulled of his jacket, fashioning a tourniquet.  “What happened?” he asked while he worked.

A woman standing close by, clearly connected with the man in some fashion, rubbing at the tears in her eyes and moved forward to speak.  “We don’t know, he just got shot out of nowhere.  Why would someone do this?  He’s a good man,” she sobbed.

Bruce looked at the man then at the woman, looking for a reason.  Bucky looked up at the rooftops.  And saw a glint.  “Up there,” he said very quietly, careful not to allow his body language to indicate he had seen anything.

The woman glanced around wildly, which would hopefully be assumed as paranoia after what happened.  Bruce looked at Bucky.  “Do you want to go check it out?  I can be your backup as soon as I’m done here,” he offered.

Bucky nodded, and slipped back through the crowd.  Blending in was easy, had always been easy for him.  Even in his mission gear he’d managed to avoid notice from time to time.  Now, dressed in regular clothes, no one gave him a passing glance and he moved silently through the people and around the corner of the nearest building.  A fire escape was certainly how the shooter had gotten up there, and he saw no reason not to take the same path.  Glancing briefly around him, he jumped up onto the lowest platform, and began to climb.

At the top, barely out of breath, he paused to listen.  He could make out the quiet sound of a voice, perhaps talking into a communicator.  The unmistakable sound (at least to him) of a sniper rifle being disassembled met his ears and he figured now was as good a time as any.  Bucky swung himself over the wall and onto the rooftop, making as little noise as possible.  So perhaps it was the movement itself that caused the man to look his direction.  The man was wearing regular clothes, too, to better blend in with the crowd when he made his escape.  He was too slow, though, only just getting ready to run now.  The police would be here soon.  He was clearly an amateur.

“Who the hell are you?” the guy demanded, standing in front of his setup as though that would protect him from being identified.

“Bucky,” he replied with a grin at the man’s confused face.  He rushed forward to bring the guy down, which was easy.  Until he felt the barrel of a rifle against his skull.

“Well, Bucky, why don’t you let go of my friend here and we might let you live?” another voice said somewhere above him.

He glared down at the man whose throat he was holding in his left hand, but released it and held up his hands as he surveyed the situation.  There was a staircase up to the roof, with a door.  The second man was clearly standing in the door and, from the sound of it, he was not alone.  Bucky berated himself for rushing into what seemed like a simple situation.  He could get out of it, he knew, but he had been hoping not to kill people anymore.

“Bucky?” Bruce’s voice called from the other side of the room.  They were hidden from view by the door structure.

“Get angry, Bruce,” Bucky replied, smiling.  He was further pleased that his new friend didn’t need to be told twice, as he could hear the sound of cloth ripping and Bruce growling moments later.  He decided it would be prudent to duck.

A splintering sound filled the air, as well as shouts of pain as Bruce knocked down the door with one punch.  He bellowed at the men who shot at him, and tossed them aside like rag dolls.  Bucky jumped out of the way, instincts taken over the part of his brain that reminded him Bruce should be in control.  Whether he was or not, the sniper and his gang, whatever their motivation, were soon unconscious.  Bucky had chosen to just stay out of the way of Bruce.  It was apparent that Bruce was retaining his autonomy, as he managed not to kill any of them.  Bucky didn’t think he could have done the same, which was one reason he didn’t attempt to engage with any of them.

When the threat was neutralized, Bucky dragged all of them into a pile for the police to find and take care of, then stopped and looked at Bruce.  At the Hulk.  God, he looked terrifying.  And unreal.  Bucky held very still as the Other Guy stared at him, waiting to see what he would do.  He blinked a few times, then roared, and Bucky had to make more of an effort not to move.  Then Bruce began to shrink, and was soon normal-sized again, holding his tattered pants.

“Well, that was an exciting walk,” Bucky said quietly.  “You could probably take some of their clothes, if you don’t want to go back to the tower like that,” he added, listening as the sound of police helicopters met his ears.  “We should probably go, though.”

Bruce seemed a little dazed, but nodded.  “Yeah.”

A few minutes later, they were blending in with the crowd on the ground, staring up with just as much awe and curiosity as the others.  When the group began to break up, partially because of the police telling it to do so, they walked along with it back toward home.

“What do you think that was all about?” Bruce asked Bucky quietly.

He shrugged.  “Don’t know.  Maybe the news tonight will shed some light on why the hell some guys would want to snipe someone in the middle of the day.”  Bruce nodded and Bucky paused, considering.  “You were really in control.  Back there.”

“Yeah.  I can be, sometimes.”  Bruce looked at him sharply after a moment.  “You don’t think you would be?”

“I don’t know.  I haven’t had a mission that didn’t require everyone to be dead at the end in a very long time.”

Bruce patted his shoulder.  “Well, I can tell you my secrets and maybe then you’ll be comfortable going on a mission with the others next time.”

“Are you?” Bucky asked, realizing after a moment that it might sound ungrateful.

Bruce shrugged, tucking his hands in his pockets.  “Sometimes.”


	23. We Waged a War With Hell, And Look, We Still Survive

In which Bucky goes out for his first mission since being the Winter Soldier.

Despite the initial hesitance, Bucky finds himself spending more time with Bruce.  Not as much as with Sam or Steve, but quite a bit.  Bruce is always calm, always knows how to create an atmosphere of calm in what can otherwise seem a turbulent life.  Bucky realizes that most of the turbulence is in his own mind, but their lives are not exactly safe and comfortable.  There are plenty of things happening now to disturb one’s peace of mind, even without his history.

After a few weeks of speaking to Bruce regularly, much as he did with Sam, Bucky feels ready to tell Steve that he wants to go on a mission.  Staying holed up in the tower was fine for a while, and he knows he is hiding out, but he is chafing at the inactivity.  Did he before the war?  He doesn’t know.  Since he shipped out, he doesn’t think he’s had a whole lot of down time.  And now he’s had months of it.

Steve is not too excited about the idea, but relents at last.  Natasha helps, telling him that Bucky would benefit from using his old skills in a positive way, instead of just for the evil things he remembers.  It is likely that Sam would agree, but he is in DC.  So, one morning, before dawn, Bucky puts on his mission gear.  It is similar to what he wore as the Soldier, but has had some modifications.  His metal arm is still exposed, but he had asked Steve to paint over the star a few weeks prior.  Now it looks like Steve’s shield.  Captain America’s shield.  He pushes his flesh hand through his hair as he surveys his reflection, wondering whether this might have been a bad idea.

“Ready?” Natasha’s voice calls through the door as she knocks lightly.

“Yes,” he replies resolutely, and leaves his bedroom.  Steve is waiting down the hallway and gives him a reassuring nod before the three of them head to the elevator.  Clint meets them on the roof, where they board a quinjet.  Natasha and Clint sit in the cockpit, and Steve sits across from Bucky in the back, reading information on the mission.

They fly a long way.  Steve briefs them as they fly, and gives them their orders.  Bucky sits with his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped, staring at the floor.  He wonders if he always felt this way before a mission or if it is new.  The Soldier was never nervous, never questioned, didn’t worry about the safety of himself or others sent with him.  Bucky almost wishes he felt like that again.  After leaving the safety of the tower, he is overwhelmed by the automatic tension that fills him as he goes to a place where people will try to kill him, try to kill Steve, try to kill Natasha and Clint.  It is shocking to consider that this was how he interacted with the world, with almost everyone, for the last seventy years.  He has grown – well, soft isn’t the right word, but the adjustment back to mission mentality, even Bucky-mission-mentality instead of the Soldier’s, is a much taller order than he expected.

“You going to be okay, Buck?” Steve asks him very quietly, looking sympathetic.

“I don’t like the waiting,” he replies, frowning.

Steve clears his throat.  “You can be our backup and keep guard of the jet if you think that’s for the best at this point.  I’m sure Sam would say you’ve made a significant positive step today, without having to go out there with us.”

Bucky grits his teeth.  “I can do this,” he insists, and Steve lets it drop, but continues to watch him carefully.  But he’s the mission leader, so that’s his job; to prepare for the eventuality of Bucky screwing things up because he can’t handle it out there.  That’s not going to happen, Bucky convinces himself, and repeats it like a mantra in his head.  Eventually, he starts to feel better.  He reminds himself that he was the world’s best assassin for seventy years, and he retained some autonomy for most of that time.  Combat situations are a place he excels, and always has.  Even before HYDRA took him and molded him into a perfect weapon.

They land at last, somewhere in South America.  The details like that are irrelevant, have always been, to him.  He knows the layout of the compound they are going to infiltrate and destroy; he knows where sensitive documents are most likely to be kept and where the highest ranking officers will likely be.  He knows that the spies will go in first and he will wait with Steve to bring the place down when they have gathered all the intel available.  They will also be ready to rescue their teammates if things should go south.

Steve gives them last minute instructions, then smiles at his friends stoically.  Bucky thinks of all the times he received that same smile before they started a mission.  Then he watches Clint and Natasha disappear into the jungle in which they are hidden.  Steve turns on their surveillance equipment, and they are able to watch the super spies conduct their mission expertly.  It isn’t video, of course, but they have tracking devices that Bucky and Steve can follow the progress of, as well as regularly reporting their status.  They can also hear Natasha and Clint talk to each other, which helps.

“We’re pinned down here, Cap, looks like they noticed us.  Could use some backup,” Clint says.

Steve looks at Bucky, who nods, again resolute.  “Okay, let’s do this.”  He picks up his shield and they take off jogging toward the compound.  “Remember, Buck, it’s HYDRA.  Don’t hold back,” he tells him.  Giving him permission to kill.  Or perhaps telling him not to resist becoming the Soldier again if it comes to it.

“Just like old times,” Bucky asks lightly, and Steve smiles at him.

The compound is under high alert when they arrive.  Nearly a dozen men guard the entrance, and their firepower is significant.  Bucky grabs Steve’s arm before they get too close, so they can develop a plan of attack, instead of just barreling in, like Steve usually does where HYDRA is involved.

Steve gives him a lopsided grin.  “Hey, I always have a plan,” he defends himself.

“A stupid plan,” Buck agrees.  “Let’s see if we can’t come up with something besides just run in there and hope your super serum and your shield take care of the rest.”

Laughing, Steve is willing to acquiesce.  A few minutes later, they’ve made it through the first barrier with ease, all of the men dispatched and much of their firepower now added to Bucky’s, and Steve’s, supplies.  Steve is less fond of guns, but knows his shield won’t get him through every situation.  Once inside, they silently move down the labyrinthine corridors, following their friends’ signals.  Bucky counts how long it’s been since they called for backup, and hopes they aren’t going to be too late.

HYDRA has taken notice of their presence, and sends more men at them.  These are harder to prepare a strategy for, as they seem to pop up out of nowhere.  But a vibranium shield and a metal arm are quickly proving sufficient to dispatch any threat.  It is almost… fun.  Fighting alongside Steve does bring back pleasant memories, Bucky supposes, so it would make sense that this situation to be pleasant.  Additionally…  It reminds him that they are still young men, and this is what they wanted to do with their lives.  Things have changed, gotten more world-changing and drastic, but, at the heart of it, they are still just a couple of soldiers.

Clint and Natasha are pinned down in one of the central rooms of the compound, where they were gathering intel.  The two of them have taken cover and are shooting at their attackers sparingly.  There are over thirty men standing around the room, blocking any escape.  Steve and Bucky wait just around the corner, hashing out a plan very quietly.  Not that they need to be silent; the gunshots are frequent and deafening, and the sound of thirty stressed-out grunts is similarly noise-concealing.

“Ready?” Steve asks at last, holding a pistol in his right hand and adjusting his shield on his left.

Bucky has a rifle on one shoulder and RPG he picked up on the other, but holds just a pistol in his hand.  His right; his left doesn’t need extra weaponry.  “Let’s go,” he replies, smiling grimly.

Steve nods, and leans around the corner to throw his shield at the nearest group of men.  Bucky slips around the corridors to come at them from the other side, where he dives into the melee with deadly precision.  Blocking shots with his left arm, he uses his pistol until it is out and he is close enough to switch it out for a knife.  After what seems an eternity but is probably less than a minute, he has cut his way through the ranks and men lay about his feet, some dead, some dying, some merely unconscious, but blood on his boots and his clothes.  He pauses to catch his breath in the silence as Steve does the same, having similar results on his side of the hallway, though with less blood and more unconscious men.

“Good job, fellas,” Natasha says calmly as she steps lightly out of the room.

“Yeah, thanks.  We got our stuff, let’s get out of here,” Clint says, something between admiration and shock as his face as he surveys the hallway.

“Did you set the explosives?” Steve asks, in his Captain America voice.

Natasha rolls her eyes, smiling at Bucky.  “Of course we did.  That’s why Clint’s in such a rush.  We set them on the way in.”

Steve nods, and leads the way out.  It is more difficult to get out than it was to get in, with HYDRA soldiers appearing around every corner to stop them.  But the four of them work well together, and they swiftly neutralize any opposition.  They get outside and Steve presses the detonation switch as they run through the jungle toward their jet.  The sounds of explosions follow them and Steve grimaces.

“We can capture who ever survives,” Natasha tells him.  “We didn’t run into anyone willing to be captured and you know it.  This is HYDRA.  They invented the idea of having a cyanide pill in case of capture,” she added firmly.

Steve nodded slowly, accepting.  “Good job, team,” he says, and pats Bucky on the shoulder.  “Good work, Buck.”

Bucky smiles.


	24. But Just Because We Live Does Not Mean That We’re Alive

In which Thanksgiving is celebrated.

Bucky was sitting in the back of the quinjet, cleaning his weaponry while they flew back to the tower.  Natasha and Clint were in the cockpit, while Steve was sitting across from him.  He glanced up at his friend, who was leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed.  Bucky smiled slightly.  It was a tough fight, but they’d won.  It would be nice to go home for a while.  Bucky liked that part, going home, between missions.

When they landed, Tony was waiting with a grin on his face.  The expression always made Bucky anxious.  He walked hesitantly down the ramp, waiting for Steve to catch up.  Tony continued to smile at them patiently until all four of them stopped in front of him.  Bucky was glad to see he wasn’t the only one a little concerned about this turn of events.

“Good mission?” Tony asked.  “Took care of all the bad guys?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied guardedly.

“Great!  Come with me, I have a surprise,” he said, turning around and walking inside.

The others exchanged looks before following him down the corridor to the elevator, which was silent as they all rode to Tony’s floor.  Bucky had never been there before, and was somewhat surprised to find that it looked quite similar to Steve’s floor.  With a few modifications, of course.  It was not a surprise when Tony led them to the kitchen, nor was it unexpected to find the place a mess.  Bucky had seen his lab, after all.

“What’s up, Tony?” Steve asked, looking around.  He had, as usual, gone in first.

“You guys know what today is, right?” Tony wanted to know, smirking.

They turned to look at Natasha.  “It’s the third Thursday in November,” she said.  Clint frowned while Bucky and Steve glanced at each other.  “Thanksgiving, boys,” she clarified, rolling her eyes.

“Exactly!” Tony said triumphantly.  “I made dinner!”

Clint and Natasha exchanged incredulous looks, while Bucky inhaled experimentally.  “Something’s burned,” he said.

Tony frowned, and turned around to inspect his work.  “Okay, maybe a little,” he said, somewhat deflated.

“Maybe we could get changed and then have dinner,” Steve suggested graciously.

“Great, get the others.  Be back in fifteen minutes!” Tony replied, pleased again.

The elevator was silent as they rode it to their respective floors.  Clint whistled when they reached his.  “It’s a good thing we stopped for drive-thru,” he said with a grin.  Natasha and Steve laughed, the statement likely an echo of some former conversation.  Bucky smiled hesitantly.

“I thought we’d faced enough peril today,” Natasha joked when she headed toward her room.

“Did I miss something?” Bucky asked when it was just him and Steve.

“Tony is a terrible cook.  Like, unbelievably bad.  He manages to undercook and burn eggs,” Steve explained with a smile.  “But I’m sure celebrating Thanksgiving together will be fun,” he added.

“What did you do the last couple?” Bucky wanted to know as they exited the elevator and headed to their respective rooms.

Steve shrugged.  “Nothing.”

Naturally, Steve didn’t reciprocate the question.  Nor did they talk about the last time they’d seen each other for Thanksgiving.  In their own rooms, they quickly removed all their mission gear and weaponry, at as much as wasn’t attached, and changed into jeans and t-shirts.  As usual, Bucky’s were long-sleeved.  Thus comfortably attired, they met again in the hallway and, with grim expressions, got on the elevator.

 

Getting everyone organized took some time, and Natasha and Pepper insisted on eating at the table.  Sufficient seating had to be arranged.  But about half an hour later, all the residents of the tower were sitting around the table on Tony and Pepper’s floor, admiring the decorations.  Pepper had apparently been in the dark about what Tony was doing, and it seemed likely he’d mainly done it for her, but she quickly swept in and salvaged as much of the food he’d made as possible.  It was also likely she’d made a few quick things on her own, so the meal would be filling, if not entirely palatable.

Bucky had little interest in what he ate at this point, so he placidly served himself a bit of everything.  He smiled at the others’ polite reactions to the dubious-looking selections available to them.  Most took just enough to avoid offense, though this meant something different for everyone.  Natasha ate barely anything, mostly just the rolls Pepper had made.  On the opposite end of the spectrum, Thor ate relatively heartily, though he did not seem to be enjoying himself.

“So, are we all going to say what we are thankful for?  I seem to recall that being a thing my old man insisted on when I was a kid,” Tony said, breaking the awkward near-silence.

Pepper smiled at him.  “I’m thankful that Tony no longer needs a machine in his chest to live.”  He raised his hand, likely to correct her terminology, but she took it and gave him a look that made Bucky feel a bit like he was trespassing.

“I’m thankful for this great meal,” Jane said kindly.

“I’m thankful not to have to worry about paying rent,” Darcy followed her, and Jane frowned at her pointedly.  Tony laughed.

“I’m thankful for have such dedicated warriors as my allies and friends,” Thor boomed.

Bruce glanced around nervously while they looked at him expectantly.  “I’m thankful not to have had an incident in one hundred and three days.”

“I’m thankful my friend let me keep a suit,” Rhodey stated next, grinning at Tony.

“Best friend,” Tony clarified, and they laughed.

“I’m thankful for friends who caught me up when I was under cover,” Clint said, referring to the fall of SHIELD.

“No problem, man,” Steve said, and Sam nodded. 

Clint glanced at Natasha, who smirked at him.  “I had red in my ledger,” she answered placidly.

There was a pause as everyone waited to see if they would continue their conversation, but she continued to smile slightly at him and he returned the expression.  Sam cleared his throat.  “I’m thankful to get to spend today with the Avengers instead of my more argumentative relatives,” he explained emphatically.

They laughed at this.  Steve waited with a small smile until they were done and looking at him.  “I’m thankful to still have a home after seventy years.  And that my best friend is here with me,” he added, patting Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky smiled, glad at this opportunity.  “I’m thankful to be here,” he said, his light tone belied by his sincere expression.

The Avengers looked at him supportively and he felt uncomfortable.  “Well,” Tony broke in, “let’s eat.”

They looked down at their food, and slowly started eating.  Bucky picked up his cutlery and started cutting through the more edible parts of the turkey on his plate.  Just as he was lifting his fork to his mouth, Natasha handed him the plate of rolls to pass.  He set his fork down and politely passed them along.  After he’d eaten a few bites, Clint picked up the rolls and passed them back, via Steve and Bucky, to Natasha.  Frowning slightly, Bucky set his food down again to pass.  When he’d finished his turkey and was starting on the stuffing, Natasha handed him a plate of green beans.  He passed these, but noticed that Clint just set them down when they got to him.  Glancing at Steve, who was similarly inconvenienced, he raised an eyebrow.

The conversation around the table was kept up mainly by the ladies present, as the men were eating.  Part of this was probably normal, but most of the women were pickier about what part of the food Tony had made they were willing to eat.  It was quickly becoming apparent to Bucky that Natasha had no reason to insist he pass dishes, except that she or Clint always started passing something whenever he or Steve started to eat.

“What the hell, Natalia?” he hissed when she bumped his elbow to hand him the platter containing the turkey.

She grinned, and Clint laughed.  “Took you long enough to notice,” Clint said.

“We were being polite, not ignorant,” Steve grumbled.

“Calm down, Rogers.  We were just having fun.  We’ll let you old-timers eat.  I know it’s almost your bed time,” Natasha explained soothingly.

Steve rolled his eyes.  “Hey, settle down over there,” Tony called across the table.  “I thought we agreed no pranks.”

Clint held up his hands disarmingly.  “No pranks here, sir, none at all,” he said quickly.

“That was very convincing, Clint,” Pepper assured him, and he laughed.

“It was Nat’s idea,” he explained.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Natasha lied convincingly.

Rhodey laughed.  “Even I know you’re the most likely culprit, Miss Romanoff,” he said, “and I’m rarely here.”

“Yeah, he has a real job,” Tony muttered.

“Shut up, Tony,” Rhodey replied good-naturedly.

“Go ahead and eat, Buck,” Steve said quietly as the conversation moved on.  “We can go get something if it isn’t enough.  I’ll be hungry.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Bucky answered thoughtfully.  “For everything,” he added.

Steve paused and glanced at him.  “You’re always welcome.”


	25. We’ve Won the Final Round, But How to Enjoy the Win

In which the Avengers sit down for a movie.

Bucky ran the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping the sweat away.  Chest heaving, he turned to look at Steve, who gave him a grim smile as he stood up and lowered his shield to hang at his side.  Scanning the dilapidated buildings around them, he caught sight of Natasha’s red hair a few floors above.  She was looking down at them.

“You boys okay?” she asked in their comms.

“Yeah, Nat.  Any casualties up there?” Steve responded.

“We’re all good, Cap,” Sam called.

“Good.  Let’s head home.”

The Avengers gathered together, smiling at each other tiredly, and headed back to their tower.  Tony went on his own in his suit, Sam flew, and the others rode in quinjets.  Thor could have flown, of course, but he declined to do so.  They all arrived in the hangar around the same time, and shed much of their weaponry before entering the tower itself.

“So, you guys up for a movie?” Tony asked.

It was not a new idea.  He always seemed to be pushing for an Avengers movie night, but they hadn’t managed to wrangle everyone for it yet.  As a result of his question, several of them groaned.

“You think we could all agree on one?” Natasha wanted to know, arching an eyebrow.

Tony frowned at her.  “I think we work as a great team, and we should be able to continue with that in any situation,” he said plaintively.

“Why don’t we get comfortable and meet on my floor in twenty minutes?” Steve broke in before Natasha could reply.

Begrudgingly, everyone agreed, and soon Bucky found himself surrounded on the couch.  He’d sat down first, before anyone had arrived, and Natasha dropped next to him soon enough.  Steve was on his other side, and Clint sat on the back of couch near Natasha, his feet resting on the armrest next to her.  Tony snagged the love seat for him and Pepper.  Sam brought one of the bar stools and the others followed suit, arranging themselves around the room, facing the television.

Bucky didn’t remember much, but he knew the only way he could watch anything like this was to go to the movie theatre and watch whatever was playing.  He was aware, vaguely, of larger versions of this machine; larger in that they were more boxy and less sleek and thin.  The screen itself was surprisingly close to the size of the movie screens at the theatres he almost remembered.  Steve had warned him, early on, that there was the necessary apparatus to cause the sound to surround the viewer, and so should not be startled when he heard something behind him.  It was difficult to get used to, but he was managing.

Unsurprisingly, everyone had their own ideas about what they should watch.  Bucky was surprised to find that films from his era were still considered enjoyable, though they didn’t appear to be anyone’s preference.  When Steve brought them up, people knew to what he was referring. 

“How about Pork Chop Hill?” Steve suggested.  He had always liked war movies, Bucky knew, though this one had come out after Steve had been frozen. They had watched it together recently, and it was good.  Bucky wouldn’t mind watching it again.  “Or Decision Before Dawn?”

“It’s pretty depressing, don’t you think?” Natasha asked, glancing significantly at Bucky.  He didn’t know what the latter movie was about, but she clearly did.

“How about the Importance of Being Earnest?” Tony tried.

Sam turned to look at him in surprise.  “I pegged you for more of an action guy.  That’s a good movie,” he added, sounding pleased.

“Never heard of it,” Clint responded, most of the others assenting.

Tony frowned.  “How about a documentary?  I was watching one yesterday about dust that was very interesting,” Bruce said quietly.

“Dust?” Pepper asked politely.  He nodded and smiled at her.

“Maybe something I won’t sleep through,” Clint suggested.  “Like James Bond.”

Natasha laughed.  “You don’t get enough espionage in real life?” she asked.

He wrinkled his nose at her.  “My job is nothing like that,” he explained a little wistfully.

“The Bourne movies are pretty good,” Tony tried in the ensuing quiet.  Steve looked at him sharply, as did Natasha.  He glanced at Bucky, then away.  “Never mind.”

Thor shifted on his seat.  “I am rather fond of musical films,” he stated hesitantly.

Everyone smiled at that.  “You are?” Pepper asked.  “Any in particular?”

He looked thoughtful.  “Jane showed me one called Hello, Dolly that we enjoyed,” he said after a moment.

“That’s a good one,” Natasha told him with a grin.

No one else shared their opinion on it, and silence followed.  “How about Pride and Prejudice?” Pepper tried with a little smile.  Tony and Clint groaned, and she laughed.  “Okay, never mind.”

“I vote for the Importance of Being Earnest,” Sam said, breaking the thoughtful pause.

Tony grinned at him, handing him some popcorn.  “Excellent choice.  Glad Cap brought you here,” he added.

“What’s it about?”  Steve asked, smiling slightly.

“Oscar Wilde.  Lots of quips.  You’ll like it, there’s a lot of deadpan humor,” Tony explained.

Sam glanced at him, then at the group.  “It’s about a series of misunderstandings in England a few centuries ago and the ensuing shenanigans.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow.  “It’s a comedy?”  Sam nodded.  “Then let’s do it.  I could always use a laugh.”

Tony looked around.  “Everyone good with it?  Not going to set anyone off?” he added, gaze flickering between Bucky and Bruce.

“I’ll be fine.  I’ve seen it,” Bruce said with a quiet smile.

Bucky shrugged.  “Hopefully.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Tony muttered as he got up to prepare the film.  Everyone else settled back to watch.

 

“They’re eating muffins!” Natasha said dramatically, and everyone laughed.

“I can’t eat muffins in an agitated manner.  The butter would probably get on my cuffs,” Clint added, eliciting more laughter.

“That was great,” Steve told Tony.

“I could deny it if I liked.  I could deny anything if I liked,” Tony responded, grinning.

“I think we could let Tony pick next time, too,” Sam suggested.

“Cap, I’m loving this guy more and more,” Tony said vehemently.  “Why don’t you live here all the time?”

Sam smiled.  “I have another job.  But you are making it tempting.”

Bucky had enjoyed the film, and was lost in thought as the others slowly broke up and headed to their own floors to sleep.  Steve went to the kitchen to get a drink, and paused on the way back to his room.  “You okay, Buck?” he asked.

Bucky shook his head to clear it.  “Yeah, just thinking.”

“About what?”

He bit his lip, considering.  “The lady said a man should know everything or nothing.  Which do I know?”

Steve smiled slightly.  “It’s a joke, Buck.  Don’t take it to heart.”

He shrugged, looking at the floor.  “Some things have come back.  But I don’t know if everything ever will.”

With a sigh, Steve dropped on the couch next to him and patted his shoulder.  “You’re doing fine, Buck.  You remember enough from when we were kids, and the war, and not too much of what’s happened since.  You don’t have many nightmares anymore, and you’re going on missions with us.  So, you’re doing just fine.  Go get some sleep, it’s been a long day.”

Bucky smiled slightly at his friend.  “Yes, Captain.”

Steve punched his shoulder.  “At ease, Soldier.  We’re off-duty.”


	26. When We’ve Been Broken Down

In which Steve and Bucky go to the movie theater.

It is early evening.  Bucky has been alone all day, and dozing on the couch.  As is wont to happen, memories grip him and he wakes up in horror, seeing all the blood on his hands.  He rolls off the couch and rushes to the bathroom, dropping to his knees and emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.  Then he sits down and rests his forehead on his knees, drawn up to his chest.  He hasn’t been here long, but it had been a few days since he last woke up this way, and he had started hoping it might stop.  Apparently not.

Eventually, he gets to his feet and cleans himself up before going back to the living room, where he turns on the television to drown out the noise in his head.  Steve comes home and finds him here.

“Hey, Bucky, how was your day?” Steve asks gently, clearly noticing his disheveled state.

Bucky shrugs as Steve sits down next to him.  “Rough,” he mutters.

“You can always call me if you need me to come home.  Do you want me to stay here tomorrow?”

He is already shaking his head.  “You’ve got nothing to prove,” he whispers, not sure where the words are coming from.  They seem to have a strong effect on Steve.

“I mean it, Buck, I’m with you till the end of the line.  You don’t need to go through this by yourself.”

He sighs, looking around the living room.  “Maybe…  Maybe it would help to get out of this tower,” he suggests, uncomfortable with but somewhat relieved by Steve’s assurances.

Steve smiles at this suggestion.  “You sure you’re ready for that?  You haven’t left the floor since you’ve been here.”

He nods.  “It can’t hurt.”  He pauses, glancing at Steve and then away.  “As long as you bring your shield, just in case.”

“In case we’re attacked?” Steve wants to know, sounding concerned.

Biting his lip, he shakes his head.  “In case I can’t control myself.”

“Is that what you’ve been worried about all this time?”

“Yes.”  Steve’s earnest look makes him add “That and… what might happen if I’m recognized.”

“By HYDRA?”

“By anyone.”

Steve nods slowly, then hesitantly pats him on the shoulder, making sure his intention to do so can be read in his body language.  Bucky resists drawing back at the contact.  “Let’s make sure no one will notice us, then,” Steve says with forced cheerfulness as he gets to his feet.

He follows Steve, who goes into the bedroom he’s been given.  They go through Bucky’s limited clothing options and soon he is feeling a little confident with his left arm covered up by a long-sleeved t-shirt, a denim jacket, and a tight-fitting glove.  He flexes his fingers tentatively to test the dexterity.  Jeans, sneakers, and a cap pulled tight over his face and long hair complete the disguise, and most of it he wore to the museum dedicated to Steve.  And to himself.  He hasn’t told Steve, or anyone else, that he went there.

Steve dresses similarly, and they head downstairs.  On the ground floor, Steve leads the way down a narrow corridor to what is clearly the back door.  The street is unsurprisingly crowded, though not too uncomfortable.  He walks close behind Steve and keeps his hands in his pockets and his arms close to his body.  He doesn’t want anyone bumping his arm by accident.

“Where are we going?” he asks after a few blocks.

Steve looks back and smiles at him.  “To the movies.  Remember going when we were kids?  It’s changed a lot.”

Bucky smiles slightly in response.  “Maybe.  Tell me about it.”

“Nowadays, they list the times when the picture is about to start.  It doesn’t, though, it still has commercials and previews before it.  But they clear the theater out when it’s over.  You don’t just wander in and watch whatever is playing as long as you want, until it circles back around.”

Steve glances back again.  Bucky forces another smile.  “I don’t remember,” he admits.

“That’s okay, Buck.  They don’t have double features much anymore, either.  And it’s really expensive, especially to buy snacks.  Are you going to want some?”

“I don’t know.  What kind of snacks?”  Bucky hasn’t gotten the hang of having an appetite back yet.

“Popcorn is the usual one.  They also have hot dogs and nachos and sodas.  Those are sugary drinks, if you remember those.  They’ve really taken off.”

“Are they good?”

Steve shrugs.  “Some of them.  A little too sweet for my taste, to be honest.”

Bucky nods, not sure how else to respond.  “How far is the theater?”

“Not far.  Another two blocks.  It’s a small one.  They have really huge ones now, but I like the little ones best.  Plus, I figured you’d rather avoid crowds.”

Steve is teasing, maybe.  He smiles.  “Yeah, they’re not my favorite.”

They arrive at the theater.  It is clearly pretty old.  There is a marquee outside above their heads that lists their options.  Only three different films are featured.  Yellow lights surround the marquee and gold molding decorates the entire structure.  The carpet is deep crimson, and feels cushy even through his sneakers.  Steve heads to the ticket booth and requests tickets for the next show.  As he is paying what is clearly a ridiculous price, Bucky notices a sign next to the speaker.

“You think we can get a senior discount?” he asks.

Steve looks at him and laughs.  “I thought you wanted to be incognito.  I’m sure we’d have to explain our youthful good looks if we tried for that.”

Bucky smiles.  “It’s probably not enough of a discount to be worth it,” he agrees.

The ticket agent looks at them curiously, but doesn’t question them as he hands over the tickets and directs them to their theater.  They walk inside the glass doors and down the hallway to the right.  The theater itself is quite large, and clearly used to be a more traditional theater.  There is balcony seating above them, though Bucky didn’t notice a route by which to reach them.  He considers that he might be more comfortable up there, with a good view of everything.

Steve heads about midway down the aisle, and selects a couple of seats near the center of it.  Bucky lowers himself slowly onto the heavily cushioned seats.  They feel old, but are rather comfortable.  Of course, he hasn’t been in a situation where comfort was a priority in a long time, so his standards have been lowered.  He settles in and Steve glances over at him to smile reassuringly as the theater goes dark and the picture starts.

 

“What did you think?” Steve asks as the lights come back on and people start filing out.

Frowning, he watches the other theater-goers.  “It was a little confusing,” he admits.

“Yeah, they’re pretty complicated these days.  Most films have some kind of twist ending, which makes it difficult to follow on the first viewing.  We can come back later, if you want.”

He shrugs.

“Do you want to head home?”

“Sure.”

They get up and walk out of the theater.  Bucky stops suddenly.  “What is it?” Steve asks, noticing right away.

“We didn’t get any popcorn,” he says, his stomach rumbling at the smell.

Steve laughs, surprised.  “Okay, let’s get you some popcorn.  Then we’ll go home.”

Home, Bucky thinks as he eats the snack, following Steve.  It’s nice to have one to go back to, he decides.


	27. And We’ll Never Know What Could Have Been

In which the Avengers go to the beach.

“Come on, guys, it’ll be fun,” Clint begged.

“You know I can’t go in the sun for long, Barton,” Natasha told him.

“So we’ll bring an umbrella.”

“And how are we going to keep our identities secret if all we’re wearing is bathing suits?” she continued, gesturing toward Bucky’s arm and Thor.

“Well, now I’m interested,” Tony interjected.  She glared at him.

“We spend enough time fighting; I think we deserve some fun.  And what’s more fun than going to the beach?” Clint defended himself.

“It would be nice to spend time in the sun without wearing a uniform,” Steve offered.  Sam and Bucky nodded in agreement.

“Bruce, what do you think?” Natasha asked gently.

He looked up from the paper he was reading to frown slightly at her.  “I can read outside,” he said.

Clint grinned at Natasha, who threw up her hands in defeat.  “Fine, let’s go.  I’ll stock up on sunblock.”

 

A few hours later, they arrived at the beach.  It was mostly secluded, and the day was cloudy, so not many witnessed their arrival.  Though they usually travelled by quinjet, there were vans in the motor pool into which they could all fit.  Well, all those who were around.  Pepper was away on business, and Jane was doing research outside the country.  Bruce usually didn’t come on many adventures outside the tower unless absolutely needed, so it was somewhat surprising that he volunteered to join them.

It was strange to see everyone wearing such casual clothing.  Natasha wore a one-piece black swimsuit with a towel slung over her shoulder, along with a bag of necessities.  The men all wore swim trunks, of varying colors, and t-shirts with flip flops.  Bucky felt very exposed with so little covering his metal arm, but somewhat mollified by the fact that the scarring attaching it to his body was not visible.  If anyone else was uncomfortable, they didn’t show it.

Tony pulled his sunglasses forward to smirk at the group over them.  “Well, let’s try not to get into too much trouble today.  I brought alcohol,” he added, kicking the cooler at his feet.

“Is that part of this custom?” Thor asked.

“Not necessarily, but you’re welcome to get as drunk as I’ve heard you Vikings do,” Tony replied.

“I’m not a Viking, Tony,” Thor replied.  Tony rolled his eyes and headed off down the beach, leaving his cooler near them.  Shrugging, Thor opened it and pulled out a beer, then strolled off in Tony’s general direction.

“Stay hydrated, everyone,” Natasha said, pulling out another cooler which contained bottled water in ice.

“I brought snacks,” Bruce put in quietly, gesturing to the bag he wore on his shoulder.

“Good,” Clint told him, and hefted an umbrella over his shoulder and headed down the beach to set it up.  The others followed.

“Did you guys do this kind of thing when you were kids?” Sam asked Bucky and Steve casually as they walked.

Bucky was frowning at the instable foundation the sand provided, but glanced up to answer.  “Not often.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t really that popular.  Well, not with guys like us,” Steve added.

Sam smiled.  “Guys like you?”

“Poor people,” Bucky said flatly, but smirked.

Steve laughed.  “Yeah, we didn’t really have time to take days off to go sit around.”

“I haven’t gotten the impression that you guys sit still well,” Sam agreed.

Natasha, walking nearby, laughed.  “No, they don’t.  It’s a good thing HYDRA keeps growing back, or they might go insane.”

“Hey, I did just fine staying in the tower for months,” Bucky protested.

“That was different,” Natasha said quietly, and the others stared intently at the ground, focusing on their footing.

Bucky shrugged.  “I’d probably be perfectly fine doing that again.  Steve’s the one with the problem.”

Glad to be on a safer topic, Sam grinned.  “Steve definitely has a problem.”

“What does Steve have a problem with?” Clint asked, as they caught up with him.

“Not going out and being heroic all the time,” Natasha explained.

He smiled at Steve, who was looking uncomfortable.  “He’s goddamned Captain America.  I’d say he has a lot to live up to.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” Bucky suggested.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged, spreading out his towel near the umbrella and stretching out on it.  “America has a lot to live up to, being compared to Steve Rogers,” he replied, closing his eyes.

Everyone smiled at Steve’s embarrassment.  “He’s not wrong,” Natasha agreed, patting Steve on the shoulder.  She set up her towel next to Bucky’s, but more under the umbrella, and pulled out a book.  “Let me know when you’re all ready to go home,” she said as she settled back.

“You’re just going to read, Nat?” Clint asked, sounding disappointed.  She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow and he sighed.  “Fine.  I’m going to go swimming.”

Steve and Sam stood awkwardly for a moment before heading down to where Bruce, Tony, and Thor were.  Bucky opened an eye to watch them.

“You just going to hang out with me, Barnes?” Natasha asked, not looking up from her book.

He turned slightly to see the cover.  “You’re just going to read a trashy romance novel?”

She frowned at him.  “It’s not trashy.  But yes.  Sun isn’t really my thing,” she explained, motioning toward her pale skin.

He smiled.  “You trying to get rid of me?”

“Will it work if I am?”

He considered.  “Possibly.  What do people do at the beach these days?”

Now she considered, looking out across the bright sand.  “Swim, sunbathe, play games.  I don’t know if anyone thought to bring anything.  Maybe Sam has a Frisbee.”  She paused.  “Does the arm making swimming difficult?”

“Probably easier than swimming without it entirely,” he replied.  “It’s a little heavier than my other one, but it works fine in water.”  He looked toward the surf.  “I don’t remember if I like swimming.”

“It’s warm water,” she offered.

“I’ll give it a try.  And leave you to your book.”

She smirked at him.  “Take Steve with you.  He looks like he’s having a hard time.”

Bucky followed her gaze and shook his head.  Steve was clearly being teased by Tony, and was blushing.  So the teasing was likely related to a girl; probably Sharon.  Bucky got to his feet and walked down the beach until he was in earshot.

“I’m just saying, it would be nice to have brought more than one girl.  I mean, it’s a beach.  There’s supposed to be some eye candy,” Tony was saying.

“Sam, did he just say he didn’t think we were attractive?” Steve asked, smiling.  Not in need of rescue, after all.

“I think so,” Bucky interjected.

“Hey, man, I work hard to look this good,” Sam agreed.

“As do I,” Thor said, in mock-affront.

Bruce laughed at their antics, and Tony threw up his hands.  “Fine, yes, you all look great.  I’m sure all the ladies who can see us are swooning.”

“I’m sure,” Steve agreed.  He turned to look at Bucky, questioning.

“Natasha said we should go swimming,” he explained.

Tony shook his head.  “I hope she didn’t mean me.”

Bucky shrugged.  “Maybe she was just worried about Clint being out there by himself.”

They turned to look at Clint, suddenly concerned.  He looked fine.  “She knows about your propensity for pulling people out of that kind of situation,” Bruce said quietly, and Bucky smiled at him.

“That must be it,” he agreed.

“Okay, well, let’s go,” Steve suggested, pulling his shirt off.  Bucky, Sam, and Thor followed suit.

“If they weren’t before, the ladies are definitely swooning now,” Tony muttered.

Bruce laughed.  “Feeling a little intimidated?”

“By the super soldiers and the god?  Maybe a little.”

“What about Sam?”

“What about Sam?  How’d he get so ripped?” Tony wondered aloud, and Bruce laughed again.  “I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has given kudos or commented on this story!


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